


Accidental Tourist

by gainesm



Series: The New Beginnings Storyline [3]
Category: Sanctuary - Fandom, Warehouse 13
Genre: 1893, Chicago World's Fair, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Murder, Mystery, New Beginnings Canon, Post Season 3, Post-Season/Series 03A AU, Romance, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 93,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gainesm/pseuds/gainesm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myka and Pete travel back in time on the hunt for a deadly artifact, but things go amiss! Pete ends up in 1898 and Myka in 1893 - in the body of H.G.'s first female love.</p><p>Sci-Fi/Romance/Adventure. Rating MA *Episode 2 of the "New Beginnings" storyline*</p><p>Please be advised that while most of the chapters are very detailed plot, there are some that will contain sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Whitechapel Charter

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

 **A** / **N** : The idea for this episodic story came to me while I was writing the first story in this series ([ _New Beginnings_](../../../421177/chapters/702367)) and ruminating on how H.G. became an agent. Coupling this with a desire to write a truly steamy story for H.G. and Myka, I came up with the premise for "Accidental Tourist". The story should prove to be an exciting one. I hope you enjoy it. As always, I thank you for reading and hope to hear from you in the comments/reviews area – I can promise you every ounce of feedback matters.

 

Chapter One - The Whitechapel Charter

  


"Finished!" Claudia Donovan's voice emanated from under her desk. She emerged sucking the tip of her thumb having just stubbed it while trying to tighten a screw on the back of her computer. She connected a set of cables and wires and sat at her desk before typing on her keyboard. Moments later a set of designs and diagrams filled her monitor. Green dots lit her screen in succession along various points in the code she ran. Everything looked good so far. She smiled giddily and turned to Artie who was buried in a sea of folders and papers. His disheveled hair peeped out from atop the large mound of paperwork and she called out to him. "Artie! I think I'm done! Come check out the new interface." Artie slid his chair to the side and leaned back to address her.

"It's not done until you've tested it, and you're never going to test it – ergo, you're not done!" He leaned forward in his chair and disappeared again. She could hear him shuffling papers behind his tower of cold-case files. Claudia rolled her eyes and went back to studying her monitor. She had worked for weeks on the interface. After the last use of H.G. Wells' time machine the main power couplings failed and trying to restore them along with the other fried components proved to be too difficult. The parts they needed for replacement were nearly impossible to find, and to Claudia's technologically advanced mind it seemed far more efficient to upgrade rather than extend the effort to replicate the original design – remarkable as it was. She considered herself lucky to have the assistance of its inventor, though she had garnered it under false pretenses. Claudia, wanting to surprise her with the revisions, had told her she was only interested in cataloguing the design for posterity's sake. The woman's genius was clearly evident in her work, and without H.G.'s help Claudia might never have figured out a viable solution to modernize the equipment. All she needed now was a test run to ensure they had worked out all the kinks.

"Artie, quit being such a fuddy duddy." She paused in her typing and examined her monitor. A yellow dot flashed on the screen indicating a possible function call collision. She typed a few keystrokes and curled her lips into a silent grimace. She was going to have to check thousands of lines of code just to make sure nothing was wrong, but there were no critical failures or the light would have been red. At least there was that, she thought. She sighed and said, "Remember Joshua's Horn? H.G.'s machine was useful once before, you never know when we might need it again."

Artie stopped shuffling papers. "Or I might," he mumbled. Claudia looked up. Artie slowly rolled his chair back and looked at her. "You're sure you're done?"

"You're going to let me test it?" Excitement was more than evident in her eager voice.

"That depends," he said squinting his eyes as he examined her. "Are you done, or aren't you?" She looked at the screen and considered the yellow dot. It could be an indication of a problem, but then again it might not be. She weighed it out in her mind, but decided she really did not want to take the chance. If anything happened to Pete or Myka she would never forgive herself – and Artie would never let her forget.

"Uhm, almost. No critical failures, so far, but I have a yellow alert so I probably need to check through the code." She hated having to admit the possible code collision. She really wanted the test-run.

"How long will that take?" Artie stood up. He did not like the idea of using the time machine in this new way, but Claudia had proven herself to be quite an expert at interfacing with old technology. If anyone could get this new control system working, she could.

Claudia's eyebrows raised in surprise. She had not expected him to seriously consider using the new interface so soon. If he was going to allow her time to scan through her code that meant they could do a test-run fairly quickly. "Ah, let me see if I can narrow down the section. If I can, maybe an hour or two at most."

"Good. Do it," he said in his typical staccato. Claudia's hands shot up in the air triumphantly. Artie turned around to hide the smile on his face and opened his Farnsworth. Moments later the face of H.G. wells filled the view screen.

"Good morning, Artie," she said cheerfully. "How may I assist you?"

"Hi," he said. It was as much pleasantry as he ever offered. "I'm working on a possible case and need to ask you some questions." He pulled a stack of papers from his desk and rifled through them until he found what he needed. "Have you ever seen this?" He pointed the Farnsworth at the photographs in front of him and waited for her answer. One showed a long ornately carved rounded metal handle with an oddly shaped clasp. Next to it was a photograph of five scalpel blades each stamped with a visible monogram.

"Artie, what case is this?" She answered without addressing the photographs.

He turned the Farnsworth over and spoke into the mouthpiece. "It's an old case, from around your time period as an agent," he said. "And if I'm right about what I've uncovered, we need to reopen it."

Helena's face lost all expression. "Artie, I'll be there in a few minutes. Myka and I are on our way back from town. We'll call Pete and have him meet us there. If this is related to those photographs, I think it's best if we're all together to discuss this one." Helena closed the signal and Artie sat back in his chair. The last thing he wanted was to put Pete and Myka in harm's way, but the Whitechapel Charter tied his hands. They had a standing order to employ any and all means to retrieve all objects on the list.

* * *

"It was 1893. I wasn't an agent, not yet, and I had traveled to America for the upcoming World's Fair in Chicago." Helena absent-mindedly twirled the ring on her hand, pacing slowly, as she spoke. The grave tone in her voice matched the expression on her face as she gave her knowledge of the objects in the photographs. "While spending a day with some colleagues I was introduced to the cousin of one of my closest friends – a woman named Emmeline. She liked to be called Emma," she cast a side glance toward Myka and continued. "She worked as a stenographer at a medical institution in a village just north of Chicago. We became close in a short time, but about a month after we met she took a job in Chicago and moved away. She came for a couple of visits, but she seemed different. Distant somehow." Her face darkened and her eyes took on a faraway look as if she were relaying details she would rather not recall. "The last visit was in the end of June. No one ever saw her again."

Helena put her hands in her pockets and her eyebrows knit together. The memories clearly haunted her. "A few months later I went to Chicago myself after her fiancé, Robert, went missing. Mr. Phelps had gone to inquire after her, and when he disappeared in September I took it upon myself to help with the investigation. Emma's disappearance I thought I understood; when _he_ vanished, however, I knew something was afoot." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I could never have predicted where that investigation was going to lead. But, in the end, it turned out her employer – a Dr. Henry Holmes – murdered both Emma and Robert along with possibly two hundred others."

"Two hundred?" Artie whispered the question. The number of victims was staggering.

"Geeze…" It was the only word Pete could manage.

"Okay, wait. How did no one notice _two hundred_ people just disappearing?" asked Claudia.

"Well that's the key isn't it, darling?" Helena said, giving Claudia a sad smile. "There were hundreds of _thousands_ of people in the city that year."

"The perfect circumstances for a serial killer," said Myka. "With that many people, visitors and foreigners, the local police force would have been overwhelmed. Even if they knew people were missing, they wouldn't have been able to investigate properly." Helena gave her a slight nod.

"They tried," she continued, "but by the time they realized what was happening, Dr. Holmes fled to another state. Texas, I believe."

"Did they ever catch him?" Pete asked. "I hate to think a guy like that got away with it."

"Yes, they did. Eventually." Helena stopped pacing and crossed her arms. "He was tried, and found guilty, of murdering four people. He confessed to more, but those were never confirmed. Neither were the majority of his _suspected_ crimes."

"Were you the one who caught him?" Claudia asked.

Helena shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not, but I did recover most of the pieces to his artifact – the one in the first photograph, the long-handled scalpel, was never found. However, I did manage to recover all of the blades from your second photograph." She smiled wanly. "That's when I was approached by the Regents to come work for the Warehouse." She looked almost apologetic as she explained. "I was young, my country needed me, and I missed Christina terribly. I gave all my information to the authorities, and offered insights through correspondence, but that was the extent of my involvement. Joining the Warehouse forced me to focus elsewhere."

"And you never recovered the scalpel." Artie's statement was aimed more as a question.

"No, but it remained a priority. For a brief period a few years later we picked up the trail again. Just after the first American Warehouse burned, while we were still transferring inventory, we came across a lead. I assisted the two American agents, but nothing came of it I'm afraid." She looked at Artie and said, "I didn't discover for years what the scalpel set was, but when I did it made sense. It had a rather gruesome history."

Artie made a noise in his throat and picked up a set of files to place them on the corner of his desk. "I've been doing some digging, and I found a confidential set of files on the case. You wouldn't have had clearance to see them. But, it looks like the two American agents you encountered in 1898 experienced missing time for a period of exactly twenty-two hours and nineteen minutes." Helena and he exchanged looks as he handed her the first file. "They were investigating the whereabouts of an unspecified artifact at the time. Based on what you just relayed I believe it was the missing scalpel. Their case notes are missing a lot of detail so I needed you to help me fill in the blanks." He turned and looked at Pete and Myka, handing her the second folder, as he continued. "Agent Davenport didn't have much insight to offer, but Agent Stevenson left a note that could only have come from you, Pete. And it came with this." He put on a pair of gloves and reached over to a device, moving it into view, and then laid a piece of paper on the desk. It had a faded yellow stain down the middle and read:

_Do not open until May 13, 2012_

"Ah!" exclaimed Helena her eyes widening with delight as she looked at the object. "It looks a bit worn, but if I'm not mistaken that's a telegraphone. How wonderful!" She looked genuinely pleased. The device was an old brass cylinder discolored by a rich patina. It was tightly wrapped by dull steel piano wire and sat on a square wooden base.

"Yes, a telegraphone." Artie said as he reached for a dial on its side. "Valdamar Poulson's _first_ telegraphone, to be exact." He began winding the dial and attached a small bell-shaped cone to the other side. Moments later a grainy recording could be heard throughout the office:

_"Artie, it's Pete. I know I don't sound like me, but it's me. I don't have much time so I'll get to the point. I'm not sure where Myka is right now, but we're in 1898 with H.G. Not our H.G. but the 1898 H.G.. Well, I guess they're the same. They're the same right? Anyway, it looks like we may have a lead on the scalpel. I know you don't want to do it, but you have to send us back in time. And, Pete! You'll never believe—Oh. Damn. Sorry about the mustard, Artie. Now I'm going to need a new shir—"_

The recording cut off before he could finish his sentence. Pete was smiling ear to ear, always entertained by his own antics. Artie turned to the group and said, "So, it appears Pete and Myka will be using the time machine."

Pete and Claudia high-fived each other and he started singing the "Back to the Future" theme-song. Myka shook her head at them before glancing through the papers Artie handed her. Helena, however, looked oddly subdued. She opened her file and started reading. "I'm not sure I understand. It isn't possible for Myka and Pete to do this – the time machine is broken beyond any hope of repair."

Artie turned to Claudia with a confused look. She grimaced and confessed. "H.G. I am sooooo super sorry, but I just knew I could do it and I didn't want to ruin the surprise." Helena tilted her head and lifted one of her hands as if to indicate she did not understand. "I totally fixed it. Well, sort of, I mean… okay, yes, I fixed it… but I still have to work out a kink in the software. I had to scrap the control box, of course, but I finished the interface to the computer today. Look!" She turned around and swiftly struck a few keys bringing up the interface for the machine. Helena looked closely and then her eyes lit up.

"Aces!" she exclaimed and patted Claudia on the back. "These computer inventions really are amazing, aren't they?" She pulled up a chair and sat next to Claudia, and for the next thirty minutes they were lost in conversation as Claudia brought Helena up to speed on the new controls. Pete stood next to them trying to keep up with the techno-babble, but gave up after a few minutes and excused himself.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to go grab something to eat," Pete patted his stomach. "The last time we used that thing I forgot to eat first and, man, I was _starving_! Plus, I really have to pee." He hurriedly left the office awkwardly trying to prevent an untimely release of his bladder. Myka rolled her eyes and sighed.

Artie took the opportunity to pull her aside. She sat against the windowsill leaning her back against the edging for support. Artie stood close and his words fell rapidly as he spoke. "Myka, listen, when you go back in time you're going to be working with H.G. and it's important you remember you cannot change history."

"I know that," she said. "When Pete and I traveled to 1961 we learned we couldn't alter anything. Pete tried leaving a note, but not even that worked." She pondered why he was warning her about something she already knew.

"Yes, yes, but I'm talking about more than that. What I _mean_ …," he glanced to where Helena and Claudia sat huddled together and lowered his voice. "What I mean is, you can't reveal who you are – even if we think nothing in the past can change, our last experience with time travel showed us there are exceptions to that rule. So be careful. Don't reveal who you are, and don't – under any circumstance – try to change anything. The past has to play out the way it was meant to. Understand?" He scrutinized her face looking for her response.

"Yes, I mean, no, you don't have to worry." She looked over at H.G. and considered his words. "Still, if something we say can help her frame of mind—" Artie cut off her thought.

"No!" He said emphatically. "That's exactly what you cannot do." He cut his eyes to H.G. and then back to her. "Myka, I know you're… fond… of that woman," Myka winced at his choice of words. He had not referred to her as 'that woman' since before the Warehouse-reset and it reminded her that despite all of Helena's good qualities, and how many times she risked herself for them, no one would ever forget the darkness of her past. Artie raised his index finger as he spoke. "Where she is now, it's only because of everything that's happened. You have to remember that. If you try to change anything… anything at all," he said emphatically and waved his finger. "You have no idea what might happen. She has unfettered access to artifacts in her day, and all it will take is the right combination for her to succeed in her plans."

 _Or worse, she might never end up here,_ Myka thought _. She might never let go of her mistakes and be a part of making the world a better place._ Myka's thoughts revealed her biggest fear when it came to the affairs of H.G. Wells. For her, it was a far worse thing to think Helena might be removed from the world than to think she might destroy it. The absurdity of her thinking did not escape her, but she always had difficulty weighing the importance of having Helena in her life against the greater good. Some day she would have to confront that for what it was - she knew—but the implications were not something with which she was prepared to contend; it was easier, for now, to push the thoughts to the back of her mind.

Myka considered Artie's words. It seemed impossible to her that the Helena she knew ever truly intended on harming anyone. But that is exactly what had happened. And as much as Myka hated to admit it, who Helena was today was not who she was a few years ago or even a hundred years ago. It was not hard to imagine _that_ H.G. Wells, logic unrecognizably gnarled by the ravages of anguish, conspiring in all her genius to bring devastation to others.

She lifted her eyes to watch her fellow agents as they worked through the interface. They chattered noisily and pointed every so often at Claudia's monitor. Myka smiled wryly at how animated the inventor looked. _This is where she belongs_ , she thought. As if on cue, Helena looked over her shoulder catching Myka's gaze. She smiled and Myka noted the twinkle in her eye. _She's not just content_. _She looks happy._ And with that observation Myka knew she could not conceive of any reality in which Helena did not exist here at the Warehouse, as her friend and fellow agent. She would do nothing to jeopardize what existed. She looked back to Artie and sighed.

"Okay. Fine. You're right. No warnings, no changing of the past." Myka's resigned tone let him know she would abide by his warning. He nodded before turning to the others.

"Chop chop!" he clapped his hands together once. "Let's get moving! Claudia, fix your code. When you're ready let us know." Helena patted Claudia on the back and stood. She left the young agent to her devices and headed toward the Warehouse floor. If they were going to use her time machine she wanted to double-check all the new changes and connections Claudia had made.

"Hey H.G.," Claudia called out as she began typing. "You guys said that scalpel set had a pretty bad history. What's its story?" She kept her eyes on her monitor as she scanned for errors in her code. She wanted to work quickly, but knew she could not afford any mistakes. This would take careful attention.

Claudia's head shot up and Myka stood slowly when Helena answered. She stopped at the exit and laid her hand on the doorpost before looking down briefly and speaking. When, at last she responded, her tone was somber and her expression grew clouded. "It belonged to Jack the Ripper."


	2. Errors and Faults

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

 **A/N** : In the year 1893, Christina Wells is either 2 years of age, or has been dead for nearly 2 years. The show has been inconsistent with the dates. For the purpose of this storyline, I have established her death to match the 1899 date given in the Season 2 episode "Reset".

Chapter Two - Errors and Faults

  


Claudia sat back in her chair staring as Myka followed H.G. out of the Warehouse office. While she loved the opportunity to test out the newly improved time-machine the prospect of anything relating to Jack the Ripper made her shudder. Something about those artifacts just seemed intensely disturbing. The last time her mentors had dealings with Ripper-facts, her mental-name for the category of artifacts associated with the serial killer, it was Myka's own parents who nearly died. The lantern was still at large; its protective glass case made from the same material as her goggles sat empty. She wondered how many more of the brutal murderer's belongings still floated free in the world. The idea of never finding them all was nearly as unsettling as knowing Myka and Pete would be dealing with such a dangerous part of history. "Artie," she said, "were you planning on telling them they were chasing after Jack the Ripper?"

"What? Who said anything about them chasing Jack the Ripper?" His tone signified no such thing would occur.

"H.G., she just said…" Claudia pointed at the empty doorway.

"No, no. She said the scalpel set belonged to Jack the Ripper. ' _Rippers'_ I guess." He corrected himself.

"Uh. Excuse much? Ripper _s_?" Claudia did not like the sound of that "s".

Artie nodded as he gave his reply and headed for his desk. "Yes, Rippers. As in more than _one_. There were five blades. There were five Rippers. The one we refer to as Jack was the most prolific of the entire group, but they were all affected by the bifurcated artifact."

Claudia blinked twice and then asked, "So, they're _not_ going after Jack the Ripper?"

"No, Jack's last known victim died in 1888. The man H.G. tracked could not have been Jack." He sat in his chair and rolled forward, his head disappearing behind stacks of paper. "All they need to do is find out what happened to the scalpel. Nothing more, nothing less. Piece of cake." His nonchalance buoyed her. She breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing they would be in-and-out without any of the danger she feared made her feel immensely better. As she leaned forward to look at her code again Artie's voice rang out. "Get to work!" She muttered to herself and began typing.

 

* * *

 

Myka watched Helena as she worked on dissembling the control panel. Seeing the industrious artisan with her sleeves rolled up, dirt smudged on her forehead, and her hair slightly mussed, she could not have looked more endearing. The left side of Myka's mouth turned up in a smile. Something about this woman, tinkering amongst her inventions, pulled at her heartstrings. Having Helena happy and excited, looking forward to the next big experiment, made for a special kind of heaven in which Myka realized she would always want to be. It dawned on her that it would never matter what Helena might be doing, so long as she was near her universe was in proper order.

Helena reached for a screwdriver and rubbed her nose with the back of her forearm. More dirt streaked across her nose and Myka stifled a laugh. Helena looked up conscious she was being watched. "What?" she said with genuine curiosity. Myka gave her a slight headshake and a restrained smirk. When Helena flashed a protesting look, Myka reflected provocative defiance. Helena sat back on her haunches and studied her face. She narrowed her eyes playfully before speaking. "Hmm… Hair twirling, silly grin, eyes sparkling… if I didn't know any better, Agent Bering, I'd say you were thinking of flirting with me." The shocked expression her comment elicited pleased her immensely and she noted the red flush as it traveled to Myka's cheeks. _Interesting_ , she thought and smiled to herself before ducking back into the machine.

Myka shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was reminded of the extraordinarily intimate occasion they shared following their last encounter with Walter Sykes. Standing in her room with Helena – alone for the first time after such a harrowing encounter – and looking at the woman who had just saved her life, she had been overcome with emotion and nearly kissed her. Helena, to her credit, did not push the moment or question her retreat. Myka's eyes blinked slowly as she thought of that experience. She could remember her heart trying to beat through her chest and the desire, no the need, she felt rise within her. Closeness. That was all she had wanted.

To be in Helena's embrace, to feel her arms wrap around her, and to lose herself in the wanting… _It seemed so perfectly appropriate at the time_ , she thought. _But then at the point of no return, I faltered, didn't I?_ _A single second of nervous doubt and the moment was lost._ Something like regret brushed across the memory and she sighed heavily. Whether she liked it or not, Helena Wells was her life's biggest anomaly. One look, one quip, one keen observation and Myka's heart always skipped a beat. Even now, with Helena's not-so-innocent comment, Myka felt the familiar desire she pushed away weeks ago spill into the present. She turned her attention back to Helena and smiled wryly. Though she had not been thinking of flirting with her, the mere suggestion flustered her. Maybe it was Helena's tone of voice – sultry and alluring as it was – or maybe it was the mischievous gleam in her eye, Myka did not know. She only knew she needed to avoid risking further embarrassment. She cleared her throat before attempting to find safer ground. "So, uhm, Helena. I was thinking," she began.

"Clearly," came the pre-occupied reply. Myka felt her cheeks flush even further. She both loved and hated their banter.

"I meant about the _case_." Not really, she knew that, but she needed a distraction.

"Ah, yes, the case," said Helena. "What about it?" She finished with the screwdriver and reached back for a wrench.

Myka deliberated before answering. "I know we'll be going to 1898, when you were barely involved anymore, but…" She stopped herself suddenly thinking better of the topic. Perhaps bringing up such a sensitive subject was not a good idea.

"Mmm-hmm," Helena prompted her to continue as she exchanged the wrench for a hammer. She began clanging noisily on the inside of the control panel. When Myka failed to respond Helena bobbed her head out just long enough to say, "Well go on, then, out with it."

The clanging started again and Myka drew a deep breath. Despite it being a diversionary tactic, something in Helena's demeanor back in the office had piqued her interest. She decided to ask. "You mentioned a woman, Emma, why did you wait so long to go after her?"

The sound of clanging continued noisily for a few seconds, but grew quietly softer until it slowly stopped. There was a long pregnant silence before Helena withdrew from the machine. Her pained visage made Myka immediately regret her question. "Emma," said Helena gently. She looked into Myka's eyes, sighed, and put the hammer on the ground. As she rose and walked toward Myka she said, "Yes, I suppose I should talk about it."

Myka shook her head and held up her hands to stop her. "Helena, no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's clearly personal, and it's none of my business." The last thing she wanted was to remind Helena of what was obviously a difficult memory. She wondered if she blamed herself for Emma's demise.

Helena replied, "No, it's okay. It's probably time I told someone about it." She looked at Myka with a sad smile and pulled up a chair next to her.

"You never told anyone about her?" Myka could not help but wonder why.

"I never did, no." Helena briefly looked down and placed her hands in her lap eyeing the ring on her finger as she did so. The light gold-colored star stared back silently and she seemed lost in thought. Myka watched her until Helena lifted her gaze to look at the time-machine. A faint smile crossed her lips. "It was her idea, you know… originally."

Myka followed her gaze and wrinkled her eyebrows at the news. "The time-machine? It was Emma's idea?" Helena gave a nod of her head.

"She mentioned the idea in passing the first night we met, and I didn't really think of it again until after Christina died." She blinked slowly and started to reminisce.

"We were in Chicago, opening day of the World's Fair. Now, _that_ was a magnificent sight. I spent the better part of the day perusing just a few of the many exhibitions and delightful curiosities, but it was around seven o'clock that night when we finally met." Helena's eyes took on a faraway look. "Emma was… glorious. She stood at the base of Mr. Ferris' charming invention, and as I was introduced to her I could not decide whether it was the wheel's novelty or her beauty that was more wondrous."

Myka watched her face as she spoke the moving words. "You loved her," she said softly.

Helena broke from the memory and nodded. "I did, yes; from the moment we met I think I was just... entirely swept away." She smiled at some unspoken thought and continued, "Though I had already enjoyed the beds of other lovers by then, Christina was already two after all, the idea of being with a woman in that way had never even occurred to me. Emma was not just the first woman I was with – Emma was..." She paused a long moment trying to find the words. "She was just so much _more_ , you know?"

Myka knew exactly what she was not saying. She felt a twinge in the back of her mind, and reached out to cover Helena's hand with hers. She said sympathetically, "I am so sorry for what happened. I cannot even imagine how difficult that must have been for you." To lose a loved one was difficult, to lose your first love to a psychopath not long before losing your only child to a random violent act… Myka could not comprehend the emotional turmoil. She felt as if she was finally just beginning to understand what had broken the incredible person before her.

"I'm sorry, too," Helena responded. "I just wish I knew why things didn't work between us. One day she was professing her love for me and everything was wonderful, _more_ than wonderful, really; the next day she wouldn't even look at me. She even accused me of manipulating her into bed." Helena winced at the memory. "I can only believe," she said as she rose, "being with another woman was too much for her. I'm only sorry I didn't find out she was in trouble until it was too late."

 

* * *

 

Pete walked into the office and saw Claudia and Artie pointing at her monitor. They were bickering about something on her screen. Artie moved his hands to type on the keyboard and Claudia grabbed it pulling it out of his reach. "Uh-uh! Hands off the Claudi-keys!"

"I can fix it, just give it back!" Artie tried to take back the keyboard.

"Your last fix took me over an hour to _re_ -fix, Artie, you're not touching it again!" Claudia slapped at his hands and he tried to lean over her to grab the keyboard.

"Glad to see all is as it should be," Pete said surveying the scene. Artie and Claudia stopped fighting and turned toward him.

"Good, you're back. We need to brief before you go," Artie said before turning back toward Claudia. He reached for the keyboard one last time as she set it down, but she snatched it back and threw him a menacing glare. He decided not to push his luck.

Pete looked around the office rooms. "Where's Myka?"

"She's out on the floor," Artie said hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the Warehouse area as he rolled back to his desk.

Pete nodded his head and took a seat. He looked over at Claudia and said, "Hey Claud, maybe when we get Steve back in here you two can take the next trip."

Claudia turned around and said, "Yeah, I'm working on it. Give me some time, then we'll see who can rack up the best war stories." She flashed him a grin and Pete returned it with one of his own.

"There will _be_ no racking up," said Artie looking at the two of them over the top of his glasses. He raised a finger for emphasis. "Not of war stories or any other kind of story. That machine is not a toy!" He turned to Claudia, "And Steve may never come back. After what he went through, I can't blame him." Artie scowled and started grabbing folders. Agent Steve Jinks was no longer an agent. The day after he was brought back from the brink of death he resigned from the Warehouse, and Claudia still refused to accept it. He told them all they could come to him anytime they needed his help, but that as far as he was concerned he wanted nothing else to do with the Warehouse. Being cut off from his team, left to die, only to awake and find Sykes had escaped burned him in ways he could not reconcile. That was not what he signed up for, he had told Claudia. She protested, but in the end he tendered his resignation anyway, and Mrs. Frederic accepted it. She told him he was always welcome to return. Claudia was making it her personal mission to bring her best friend back.

"Mykes!" Pete exclaimed causing all heads to turn toward her as she walked in the door.

"Hey Pete," she said and took a seat next to him. Artie looked at the doorway expectantly, and then turned to Myka after a few seconds.

"Where's H.G.?" he asked.

"Oh, uhm, she's finishing up with the control box." Myka answered.

"Control box? What's she doing with the control box?" Claudia asked frantically. She hated it when people messed with her technology, and although the time-machine was H.G.'s it still made her paranoid to think any adjustments might impede her new design.

"She just wanted to make sure it was fully disconnected. She said it was best to avoid any potential reaction between the two systems." Myka's said looking toward the door. She could her Helena's footsteps on the stairwell.

"Ah, yes, well, that's true," Claudia acquiesced. She had not considered the potentiality and was thankful, once again, to have the original inventor on hand. The woman truly did know her gadgetry. It would not be long before she had a working grasp of computers. Claudia turned back and finished scanning her last line of text and ran the program through the code-checker one last time. She crossed her fingers hoping for all green indicators. She turned when she heard H.G.'s voice.

"Well that's that," Helena strode into the office wiping her hands. She had tidied herself and the dirt smudges were no longer visible. Myka looked at her and smiled. The raven-haired artisan looked entirely restored, as if none of the conversations over the last couple of hours had raised any dark demons or forced her to walk through memories that would have brought most people to their knees. The woman truly was extraordinary in every way, and sometimes it staggered Myka to look at her. She raised her hand to the back of her neck and rubbed at it absent-mindedly. Helena was simply breathtaking at the most inopportune times. She caught herself before her mind began to wander too far afield and turned away, but not before Helena caught her gaze and gave her a mirthful smile. Myka did her best to hide the ensuing blush.

"Okay, good, we're all together," said Artie. "Pete and Myka, look over these folders again to make sure you have the details fresh in your mind. Even though you'll be writing them later, you should be sure you know what it is you need to focus on while you're there." He turned to Helena as they flipped through their folders, "Did you finish disconnecting the machine?" Helena nodded. He turned to Claudia. "And you, is your code ready or isn't it?"

"I'll let you know in just a… damn it!" She exclaimed.

"I'll take that as a no?" he said.

"No, I just keep getting the same alert. But, there's nothing wrong with the code. I know I've accounted for everything." Claudia looked up with resignation.

"What's the alert say?" asked Pete looking up as he closed his folder.

"Well it says my function call has a possible collision with another one, only that doesn't really make any sense because they're mutually exclusive sub-routines. And even if I did have a conflict, it wouldn't cause a critical stop because the fail-safe programs I put in place should override any error in those sectors and perform an automatic transition between the if-then statements. Honestly, Pete, there's simply no possible way those two object libraries can conflict." She answered and looked at him expecting a sympathetic reply. When his only response was to blink she rephrased. "It says, basically, that even though I'm at a stoplight I might end up merging into oncoming traffic. But, none of that matters because I'm actually still parked at the mall."

"Oh, well then we're cool, right?" he asked for confirmation.

"Yes, we're cool," she agreed. They looked at Artie expectantly. When she recognized the look on his face she said, "Artie! We know they go tonight. And I'm telling you, there's simply no way these sub-routines cause a critical failure. I have fail-safes in place! No matter what, Pete and Myka will go back in time and no matter what when their twenty-two hours and nineteen minutes are up the recall program will kick in and bring them back."

"Automatically. No matter what." He said stoically.

"Yes, look, all green across the fail-safes despite your earlier fiddling." She pointed to her screen. He rolled over and checked her monitor. He tapped the keyboard and glared at her when she started to speak. She closed her mouth and waited.

"Fine." He said. Claudia was right – they did end up going back in time, and he had looked over the code to her fail-safes earlier. Even if he wanted to, at this point he could not say no. The Whitechapel Charter dictated certain levels of acceptable risk. They were within those parameters.

The group exchanged excited looks and walked to the time-machine. Pete and Myka climbed into the chairs and Helena secured them with their required components while Claudia hooked her laptop into the cables running from the platform. As Helena fastened Myka into the device she gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Thanks for letting me talk earlier," she said.

"Anytime, Helena." Myka looked up at her and smiled. She was glad to have been an ear for her to talk about the love of her earlier lifetime. It was, if even for a few short moments, the least she could do for her.

When Helena verified they were ready to go Claudia entered the dates and times for each of the travelers. Her eyes sparkled and her fingers flew across the keyboard in her excitement. When she quickly finished typing in the transport parameters she began the countdown. "1898 in five-four…" The platform began to spin. "Three-" It picked up speed. "Two-" The platform reached maximum velocity. "One!" She pushed a key on her laptop and the agents transported through time.

Artie looked at his wristwatch and clicked a button. A digital beep sounded as he began a timer countdown. Helena smiled and turned to Claudia. "All good?" She asked.

Claudia nodded without looking up. She pulled up various screens verifying critical readouts and said, "All goo—" her voice caught in her throat as her laptop emitted a long continuous tone. "Uhm. Uh oh." She sat down and began typing furiously.

"What? Uh oh? What's that sound? What's uh oh?" Artie stammered and shuffled to look at the laptop. On the screen was a large red blinking light. "What-what's-what's that light?" Helena frowned and walked over to them. She awaited Claudia's explanation, but turned to face Myka and Pete.

"Ah, okay. We're okay. It's allllllll going to be okay. Everyone relax." Claudia chanted more to herself than to the others. She continued typing and finally looked up with relief when the alarm shut itself off. "They're fine. They've, uh, made it to their destinations. The fail-safes are in perfect working order."

"Destinations? Plural?" asked Helena. She walked to the platform and looked at Myka as it began to slow. Concern showed in her face.

"Uhm, yeah. They're both in Chicago. Uhm. But… apparently that yellow alert we ignored? Yeah, well, I was right… there wasn't a collision between those sub-routines," she said sheepishly. "But there was a slight problem with the syntax in the code. I placed a semi-colon where I should have had a colon."

"And?" Artie asked impatiently.

"And, they're fine. Did I say they're fine?" She looked at Artie hoping to preempt any yelling. "Okay, well, as I said – they _are_ fine. They just didn't… end up… together." She looked at Helena. "And, Myka… uhm…. Myka's going to be a little longer than Pete for that return trip."

"What do you mean?" Helena's hesitant voice echoed the expression on her face.

"Well. Pete ended up in 1898 as Agent Stevenson, and he'll be back in twenty-two hours and nineteen minutes – just like he was supposed to… but, Myka. Uhm. This is where that colon _really_ mattered…" Artie lifted his hands as if he wanted to choke her, and she flinched. She answered hurriedly. "Myka, yeah, she is…" She scrunched her face. "She's someone named 'E. Cigrand', whoever that is, and is going to be gone for twenty-two _days_ and nineteen hours, and she's…" Claudia tapped her keyboard. "Myka's in 1893."

"When in 1893?" Artie asked. He was not pleased, and she knew she was in for it later.

"No! It can't be!" Helena spun around at the sound of the name and rushed to view Claudia's monitor.

Her eyes widened as she examined the screen; she stiffened and looked at Myka. "Oh my God," she whispered. They were her only words to the flashing green readout. It read: M. Bering : E. Cigrand : 18:57:00 : 01 May 1893.


	3. Lost in Time

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Three, Lost in Time

  


(Chicago, 1898)

 

Pete shut his eyes against the swirling light. It filled the inside of his eyelids turning everything into a bright white sheen. When, at last, the swirling and blinding light gave way to clarity, Pete opened his eyes. He was inside the back of a large enclosed rail-car filled floor to ceiling with wooden crates. They were all stamped with the same black lettering: "WH No. 12".

"Davenport! Stevenson! Get in here!" Pete turned his head to the left. A large freckle-faced man in a dark-grey waistcoat and floppy bow-tie yelled into the opening of the rail car. He barked his order then turned around and walked away. The sound of someone grunting caught Pete's attention and he looked back to his right. Inside the rail-car another man set down a crate and rubbed his shoulder.

"Grab a crate, Tom. These things aren't going to move themselves." The man looked at him and waited. When Pete failed to respond his new partner turned around and muttered to himself as he walked to the opening and jumped down. He left Pete behind, but called out to him without looking. "Whenever you're ready, Stevenson, no rush or anything." Pete, suddenly realizing he must be Stevenson and the other man Davenport - and that his trip through time was complete, jumped down from the container and followed behind him. The man continued, "I'll be damned glad when these crates are all loaded."

A light rain fell across the yard and as Pete exited the container his left foot landed in a small pool of collected rainwater. It splashed up around him peppering his trousers with specks of dirt. "Aww man!" Pete lamented. "Now I'm gonna have to change pants." If there was one thing he could not abide, it was having to walk around in filthy clothing.

"Weren't you the one who told me to watch out for that puddle when we started?" The man called out over his shoulder. Pete looked around and noticed they were in a large train yard. The man was headed into a row of buildings in front of them. Off to the right a steamboat idled in a wide river. If this was Chicago it was unlike any photograph Pete had ever seen. Even knowing he was headed to the past, he still expected a vibrant bustling city. Maybe the disconnect was just a matter of the lack of familiar technology - not seeing or hearing cars or airplanes was a bit disquieting. When he had a chance to venture outside the shipping yard maybe things would seem more normal. Pete looked up and ran to catch up to the figure in front of him. "Mykes? Where are we? This isn't the Warehouse." He looked around at the large row of buildings in front of him and the tracks to his right.

"Of course this isn't the Warehouse, Tom. Did you forget about the explosion last month?" The man gave him a look over his shoulder, "And since when have you shortened my name to 'Mikes'?"

His statement took a moment to sink in. "Wait. What? What Explosion?" Pete did not understand, but he did surmise the man was not Myka.

The man stopped and turned to face him. "Good God man! The explosion that burned down the Warehouse? You still having those episodes?" He frowned and continued. "Walter said you might have trouble with your memory for a little while – what with that blow you took. Lucky for you that head of yours is so thick!" The man laughed and Pete played along.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, you know – knock on wood!" Pete balled his fist up and lightly rapped the top of his head.

"Well, there's nothing for it, I guess," said the man before he launched into a brief explanation. "The Regents think the explosion had something to do with the power generator mixing badly with the artifact energy. So, until they figure out a way to redesign it all the surviving items are going back to London." The man looked at Pete and examined his face, "Are you feeling all right? You're looking a little peaked."

"What? Yeah, no, I'm fine. I'm fine, just a bit, you know – overwhelmed… Mike," Pete guessed at the man's name. He remembered his partner's name was Davenport, but his file only listed the first initial to his given name. The man gave him an odd look.

"Right," he said slowly. "Well, we're done for the morning anyway. Might as well meet these folks Walter brought in and get that out of the way." He turned toward the building muttering something about damned foreigners. Together they walked into the open door in front of them and Pete took in the large number of crates lining the inside of the cavernous building.

"Quit dilly-dallying, you-two! Our guests are waiting!" The freckle-faced man from earlier walked briskly past them and disappeared into a small room near the entrance. Pete turned toward the office too quickly bumping paths with his partner. He stopped and held his hand forward.

"After you, M-Michael," Pete hesitantly tried for the name once more. His partner shook his head at him and walked through the office door. Pete scrunched his face knowing he missed the name again. He racked his brain trying to come up with his next guess as he fell into step behind him.

"It's about time," said the freckle-faced man as they walked into the room. He pointed at each of them in turn and said, "Agents Davenport and Stevenson. Agents, this is Agent Wolcott and Agent—" Pete cut him off.

"H.G.!" His face lit up and he ignored her outstretched hand to give her a hug. "Finally, someone I know!" She tentatively patted his shoulder until he released her.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Agent Davenport" she said pulling back. "Have we met?"

Pete remembered himself and tried to cover his outburst. "Ah, no, no. I'm just, uh, I'm a… fan. Yes! I'm a fan of your work!" He looked around the room nodding to the others and adjusted his belt. "Yep, big fan. Love those books." She exchanged glances with the well-manicured man next to her and gave a slight shrug.

 

* * *

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

Claudia sat at her makeshift desk next to the platform where her two mentors lay. They would not return for some time, but she desperately focused on trying to find a way to bring Myka back earlier. Artie was no longer speaking to her. He had left the room barking orders to her and promising plagues of epic proportions should anything happen to prevent their return. Claudia glanced up at H.G. who sat staring down at Myka from the perch she took on the edge of the wayward agent's chair. She had not moved, or spoken, since taking up residence twenty minutes previously.

"So, uhm, H.G.," Claudia broke the silence. "Who is 'E. Cigrand'? You seemed to know the name."

She responded without looking away. "Emeline. It's Emeline Cigrand. I told you about her earlier." Her voice seemed distant and tired.

Claudia stopped typing. "You mean the girl who died? Emma?" She felt her heart stop in her chest.

"Yes, the same." She tried to relax after the sudden jolt she felt when Claudia mentioned Emma's death. "She did… pass away… though that did not happen for some months." She stood and ran her hands through her hair as she stepped off the platform and walked toward Claudia. "Provided Myka returns as you say, all will be as it should." She sighed and let herself fall into the chair next to the young agent.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1893)

 

Myka's eyes had trouble adjusting to her surroundings. Festive music and laughter from a sea of people filled the air around her. It was the largest crowd she had ever seen. _Why is it so hard to breathe?_ She looked down at her clothing and frowned to see she wore a Charvet-styled dress, and what must have been a corset – her lungs strained for more room and were denied success each time she inhaled. _Perfect_ , she thought. _Just perfect_. She raised her hands to her eyes, shading them from the setting evening sun, and looked into the crowd milling around in front of her. She had no idea how she was going to find Pete amongst the masses.

As she intently gazed into the nearest swarm of bodies she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She jumped and whirled around. A tall broad-shouldered man smiled at her and said, "Emeline, come, there's someone I want you to meet. She's the one I told you about – the author of that biology textbook you're always on about." _Emeline? Why did that name sound familiar?_ The name sat on the edge of her mind until she looked above the man's shoulder. A large Ferris wheel, its base less than twenty yards from her, turned on its gigantic axle winding itself hundreds of feet into the air. It held more cars than Myka could count at first glance and looked to be able to hold more than a thousand people all at the same time. She stared as it rose into the air – its many passengers shrieking with delight. _Oh my God_ , she thought. _It can't be_.

"What year is this?" she asked the man and pulled at her collar.

"What?" he said giving her a confused look.

"The year! What year is it?" she asked again. _Please let it be 1898_ , she thought frantically and looked again at the Ferris wheel.

"Why it's 1893, of course!" Myka froze. She knew that voice. She could recognize that voice anywhere – whether in a closed room or at the base of an iconic landmark amidst the crowds of the 1893 Chicago World's Fair. She slowly lowered her head and let her eyes take in the familiar face of her fellow agent, and friend, from another time. "Hello, I'm Helena. Helena Wells." Myka looked at her hand and paused before thinking to take it. She shook Helena's hand and quickly let it go. _Oh God, not here, not now. How did I get here? How did I end up five years too early?_ Myka's thoughts whirled. Helena lifted her eyebrows expectantly and looked at the tall man when Myka did not respond. "Andrew?"

"Quite right. Helena, may I introduce my cousin? Ms. Emeline Cigrand. She's been hoping to meet you ever since reading your biology text." Andrew gave Myka a reproving look as he did the introduction.

"Oh, sorry, yes. I'm, I'm Emeline," she stammered and then recalled the nickname from the details Helena had given. "Call me Emma." Helena smiled at her.

"Emma it shall be then. And, please, do call me H.G., I too dislike formality." She grinned at Myka who smiled back wanly. _This is not that day. This isn't happening_ , she thought. "And you read my text? Marvelous! I do not meet many who have done so. It was only released last year. I'm quite proud of it, actually." Helena beamed.

"Ah, yes, it was… fascinating," Myka lied. She knew the book existed, but she had never read it knowing it was not a work of literature. She knew she would have to correct that obvious error.

"Ah, Helena my dear sister, there you are!" a mustached man called out as he walked up with a small group of people. Helena turned to face them and then looked back to Andrew and Myka. Andrew stepped forward as she introduced them. Myka shook hands with the newcomers and let herself fade to the back of the group. _Something must have gone wrong. Something must have happened when we transferred. If I'm here, then where is Pete?_ Her thoughts immediately shifted to her partner and concern for his safety gave her a clouded look of worry. _Where is he? Is he okay? Oh, God, Pete where are you?_ When _are you?_ She turned to look through the crowd, oblivious to Helena's gaze.

"Emma?" Helena's voice stirred her from her distraction and Myka turned to face her. She inhaled sharply as a smile broke over Helena's face. _Some things never change_ , she thought. Helena was a timeless beauty. For a heartbeat they stood staring at one another, eyes sparkling, sharing the beginnings of an unspoken attraction causing both their faces to flush.

"I'm telling you, the book is better with the chapter, but for my next project I need a better idea." Charles' voice raised a level as he debated with one of his friends. They were arguing over a book published the previous year. Helena turned to look at her brother and Myka, thankful for the interruption, rubbed the back of her neck and sighed with relief. She thought of Pete once more and wondered if he was here, lost in the masses and reverting to the behavior of a prepubescent boy amidst all the distraction, or if something awful had happened.

 _Oh God,_ thought Myka _, if something did go wrong and I ended up here, how am I going to get back?_ She ran through a number of scenarios in her mind. _I'm still here_. _So that means the time-machine is still drawing power. And if the connection is still active then it most likely was not a complete breakdown of the machine._ She considered this a promising sign. _But, something had to have gone wrong or I wouldn't be here. That means there is no way to know when I can go back._ She purposefully chose to think in terms of "when" vs. "if". There was no point in worrying about what she could not control; it was far more useful to focus on whatever she could do to help speed her return. As she processed her thoughts she slowly became aware of Helena's raised voice. The conversation had shifted to whether or not the physical realm would ever allow for true time-travel and Helena grew irritated with her brother. Myka smiled at seeing the familiar passion she knew the woman to have. While her brother insisted physical time-travel was possible Helena maintained it was not. But Charles' next statement was a critical error.

"It's not like you would know anything of these matters, dear sister. After all, what would a mere woman know of such things?" His tone was condescending and he laughed when he finished. Helena and Myka both bridled. When they simultaneously began berating him for his misogynistic views Helena was stunned into silence. She had never encountered another woman as forward thinking as she was, and it took her completely by surprise. She smiled broadly as the impressive young woman began postulating an array of incredible ideas from philosophy to physics citing something called "The Theory of Relativity" and an intriguing concept having something to do with strings. She would need to remember to ask about those later, she decided. In the moment, however, she simply enjoyed seeing someone else take up the cause of the female mind – and could not help thinking how attractive a passionate intelligent woman could be.

The tirade lasted less than thirty seconds, ending only after the young woman caught herself and fell nervously silent. Helena stifled a laugh at the chagrined look on her brother's face, but she could not conceal the smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She decided to break the awkward tension; the idea of spending time alone with this woman was certainly preferable to more time with her infuriatingly dense brother. "Come, Emma, let's see if we can get aboard this wonderful machine." She looked up at the Ferris wheel and hooked her arm through Myka's. Helena waved their goodbye to the group as they began walking toward the boarding platform.

"Really, Helena, I honestly did not think the world was big enough for two of you," Charles called out after them. His friends broke into laughter and Helena flashed them all a smile. Moments later Charles and the others walked in the opposite direction.

"Helena, I'm so sorry about that," Myka said sheepishly. "I don't know what came over me. I've just always had a problem with that whole way of thinking."

Helena laughed. "Not at all, my dear, not at all. It does my brother good to know strong women exist in the world. It does me good, too." They looked at each other and Myka smiled with understanding. She had spent more years than she cared to recall standing up to the patriarchy in her life, but she realized that was nothing compared to the world in which Helena lived.

Helena excused herself and approached the man handling the gears for the wheel. She beckoned Myka over when she secured their passage with two payments of fifty cents, and the two of them quickly boarded. Despite being such a large car, few Fair-goers were lining up anymore and not many of the ones who were chose to board the car with them. The wheel creaked as it began to turn, the sudden movement scaring Myka and making Helena laugh. Myka's eyes grew wide as saucers and she clutched the side of the car with both hands. "You're not frightened are you, darling? We've hardly just begun moving!" Helena reached over and gave the small of Myka's back a reassuring pat. Myka did not normally have an issue with heights, but the size of the car made her feel small and highlighted her lack of control should anything go wrong. One mishap for the day was enough, and she definitely did not enjoy the feeling another one could occur. Helena moved to her left so as to help wedge Myka between herself and the side of the car knowing close proximity often made a person feel safer. Myka relaxed a little as she felt the illusory sensation of security wash over her. Moments later she felt much more at ease even as the car began its ascent in earnest. "Does that help?" Helena asked.

Myka nodded and said, "A bit, yes, thank you." But when the wheel stopped unexpectedly, high above the ground so another group of riders could load into the car below them, a gust of wind blew through the air rocking their carriage. Helena, anticipating a reaction, reached over and put her arm around Myka's waist. She leaned in close to Myka's ear and asked, "All good?"

Myka swallowed hard trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She did not know if they were there because of the Ferris wheel or because of Helena – but when she turned to answer the question and found herself just inches from Helena's face, she had her answer. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into the sparkling warm eyes. Helena wore a look Myka never expected to see. Along with the smiling admiration and genuine curiosity evident in her gaze, Myka noted a look of true happiness. There was no darkness, no hint of the tragedy that would one day mar the woman's future. If she had ever wondered what H.G. Wells could have been like without all her suffering, she did not need to wonder any longer. Myka looked upon the beautiful face of complete serenity. Everything inside of her melted and she desperately fought back the urges welling up trying to break free. When she felt Helena's arm tighten around her, it was all she could do not to lean in and bring their lips together. As if sensing an invisible line about to be crossed, Helena cleared her throat and turned to admire the sunset across the cityscape.

Myka stared at her profile as she regained control of her feelings. She had never seen a more regal profile. Helena's beauty felt impossible to behold. Without thinking she laid her head against the woman's shoulder. Helena froze, but then relaxed and laid her cheek against Myka's head. Myka closed her eyes relishing the comfort and closeness silently wishing the moment would never end. But, minutes later, the wheel started again. As she felt herself ascend Myka opened her eyes and looked out over the city view with unseeing eyes. The two women finished their tour without another word.


	4. Decisions

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

 **A/N** : I'm not entirely sure when it happened, but for those who will recognize the characters – yes, there's a bit of a cross-over happening here. Have no fear, it won't overtake the story (but, I'd dearly love to hear what you think about it either way ).

Chapter Four, Decisions

  


(Chicago, 1898)

 

"Wolcott. William Wolcott." The man stretched his hand out and both Pete and Agent Davenport shook it eagerly. "How do you do?" he said and went back to tapping the hat he held in his other hand.

"Tom Stevenson," Pete responded. "And, I _do_ fine." He chuckled and looked at him but was met with an expressionless stare. Pete cleared his throat and spoke in a subdued tone, "I'm- I'm just going to be over here." He stepped to the side while the others talked and focused on the array of food near the wall to his left. Sandwich meats, cheeses, and fruit of various sorts awaited the attention of the Warehouse agents and Pete was still hungry. He started to reach for a piece of cheese but was stopped short by Davenport's voice.

"Good to meet you, I'm Davenport," Pete's partner extended his hand to the two foreign agents. When Helena took it he placed his hand over hers, smiled appreciatively, and added, "but my friends call me M—."

"Agent Davenport." The freckled man glared at him with the prompt. He never liked how Davenport treated women. In his mind they should be shown the due respect a proper lady deserved, not subjected to the lewd advances of his eternally peckish agent. "His name is Agent _Davenport_." Helena gave Davenport a nod and politely withdrew her hand.

"Yes. Yes, it is. Thank you, Walter." Davenport shot him a look, clearly annoyed, and finally turned to greet Agent Wolcott with a quick handshake.

Introductions completed, Walter continued, "Our colleagues from London are here to take charge of the shipment." He turned toward the two English agents. "Which, provided our workers return any time today, will be ready to go in another day or so." He turned to address Pete and Davenport, "And in the meantime I need one of you to accompany Agent Wolcott on a few errands." Davenport's grin nearly grew through the sides of his face at the thought of spending time with the gorgeous dark-haired beauty. Though he never cared for agents of foreign countries, he was never one to let an opportunity to bed a delectable woman pass. Pete's right shoulder spontaneously convulsed as Davenport nudged him to volunteer for Wolcott-duty.

"Mr. Stevenson, good. You go with young Mr. Wolcott. And Mr. Davenport?" Pete's partner eagerly stepped forward. "Mr. Davenport, I need you to go over these case-files with Miss Wells. Make sure the lady is informed of where we are with our open files, and it would be good to go over the surviving artifact manifest." Davenport could not have looked more pleased. He nodded his assent.

"Actually, Mr. Alford," Helena interrupted. "If you don't mind I think I'd like to take those errands for myself. And Mr. Wolcott is far better at the paperwork than I am. Besides, it's been years since I've visited this marvelous city and I would dearly love to see a bit of it. I hear there's to be an exhibition game of your American football? The Cardinals, I believe? Not to mention since we plan on going by the Hull House Annex we can stop to speak with one of the new Warehouse designers." Her voice rose into a question. "Nikola is an old friend. It would be wonderful to see him again." She smiled sweetly at Walter whose mustache twitched.

Walter liked order and he liked predictability. What he did not like were changes to his schedule – or his orders. But his chivalry won out over his angst; depriving a respectable woman of something so simple was just not within his nature. "Very well," he said begrudgingly. "Stevenson, you will accompany the lady on her errands – and her visit," he raised an eyebrow at Pete. To his mind, a woman should not be in the private company of another man without supervision. He wanted to make sure Stevenson would be there. Pete nodded in reply. Satisfied, Walter looked at Davenport. "And _you_. You will update Agent Wolcott." Davenport pursed his lips but did not vocally object. "Good. Now, as you can see," he swept his hand toward the wall near Pete. "We have lunch ready for you."

 

* * *

 

Pete stood behind a large crate near the back of the building. He furtively looked around. Seeing no one nearby he set his plate of food on the lid of the large crate, grabbed a cube of cheese and popped it into his mouth, then hastily scribbled a note on a piece of paper next to the plate. When he finished he lifted the telegraphone from its box and set it up as he flipped through the enclosed instruction manual so he could record his message.

"You should read the entire set of instructions for that particular artifact," Helena's voice called out. Pete turned to see Helena coming up the aisle to his right. She looked curiously between Pete and the object. Her eyes came to rest on his plate of food. "You should definitely read them in their entirety. What are you doing with it anyway?"

"Oh, uh, nothing, I just wanted to…" he quickly put the device back in the crate and set the lid on top of it.

Helena disregarded what he was saying and cut him off. "Mr. Stevenson, I'm glad I found you," she said sweetly. She needed to talk to him and was pleased they were in a fairly secluded section of the building. "I was wondering if you might be willing to help me with something?"

Pete straightened his stance and turned to her. "Yeah, sure H.G., anything. What's up?" She looked around checking to make sure they were not overheard. When she was certain they were alone she smiled seductively and sidled up to him running her fingers alongside the hem of his shirt. She looked up at him and her voice took on an intoxicating tone, "I was hoping we could forget about all those errands, and maybe get away – just the two of us?"

Pete's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard before remembering his encounter with H.G. in London. "Yeah, I don't think so, lady." He pushed her hands away. "Been there done that, I know how this ends – and I'm not in the mood for a Kenpo knee to the face. What's really going on?"

Helena considered him briefly. For an American he certainly seemed to know a lot about her capabilities. She could not have been more astonished. Clearly she had underestimated him. She would not make that mistake again, and decided it was best to go with a more direct approach. She began her explanation. "All right. I suppose I might as well fill you in, as I'm going to be using our errands as a means to get into the city." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear as she spoke. "Some years ago there was a… a terrible crime here in Chicago. We recovered an artifact, but I strongly suspected there was more to the whole affair. I don't know anything for sure, yet, but I've received word someone in the city may have information." She looked hopefully into his eyes knowing if anyone found out her real goal she would never be able to pursue it. "I need your help to locate this person, and in keeping this from the official record; it is a... matter of great personal importance."

Pete hesitated. Although the Helena from his time period had proven herself to be dedicated to preserving the Warehouse, he had his doubts about the H.G. from this time period. "Ah. Well, I don't know, H.G., if this is about Holmes and the scalpel then shouldn't Ar… Walter be informed?"

Helena narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know about that?" She asked.

He panicked and searched his brain for an adequate response. "I, uh. I read about it in the, uh, case file?"

She studied his face unsure of how to read him. "The case file." Her voice was flat. "Yes, I suppose you would have." Whatever alarm he had raised, he watched all sign of it leave her expression. "Still, there was much about those events not covered in the reports and this is the first lead in years. Because the case was deemed 'solved', there's no need to officially reopen it until we know more – unnecessary complications will only impede us."

Pete thought over her words and looked at her face. He still was not entirely sure he trusted H.G., but if it was a lead on the scalpel then he decided he should follow it. He had not made the trip to pack crates. "Fine. Sure. But I still want to catch the football game." She rolled her eyes and nodded her head in agreement. "Great. Uh, just, give me a minute here. I'll meet you outside." He watched her walk away and when he was satisfied she was gone he uncrated the device again. He set it out on the lid of the crate next to his plate and quickly looked through the instructions. He set out the pieces and put everything together and began recording his message. Just before he started to tell himself about getting out to see the Chicago Cardinals, the oldest football team in existence, his plate of food exploded sending food and condiments everywhere.

"Oh. Damn. Sorry about the mustard, Artie. Now I'm going to need a new shirt. I hate it when that happens!" He wiped at the note he had written earlier but succeeded only in leaving a long yellow smudge. He packaged up the artifact with his note inside and and tucked the entire thing back into place before turning to meet Helena near the front of the building. When he arrived she took one look at him and shook her head.

"I did advise you to read the instructions, Mr. Stevenson," she said trying not to laugh. "You can't operate it with any sort of cooked food nearby. The magnetic resonance creates a nasty reverberation within the cells."

"Yeah, I guess I missed that part," he lamented. His face contorted into a partial grimace. He suddenly had an odd taste in his mouth and he stuck out his tongue trying to wipe it away with his hands.

"And… it leaves a bit of a trace in your mouth." Helena explained unable to contain her amusement any longer. "You'll be tasting that mustard for quite some time, I'm afraid."

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1893)

 

It was getting late and Helena knew she should go home, but she could not bring herself to abandon Emma's side just yet. The woman was an enigma, and her air of mystery only served to intrigue Helena more with each passing moment. They walked lazily through the center area of the fairgrounds, pausing only to examine various oddities along their circuitous route back to the Ferris wheel where they first met. Helena watched as Emma stopped to look at a display and she let her eyes linger on her new friend's profile. Something about the russet-haired woman with arresting blue eyes simply captivated her, and though her beauty was certainly difficult to overlook, it was Emma's mind that truly held her attention. Helena had many great minds with which she contended regularly, and not all of them were men, but she had never met another woman quite like Emma. She felt an overwhelming urge to learn everything she could about her, and what better way was there than to spend as much time with her as possible?

When the evening came to a close and they chose to forego the carriage home in order to walk Helena brushed aside the protests from Emma's cousin, Andrew. She assured him they would be perfectly capable of protecting themselves and he could send for Emma at her home within a few hours. They walked slowly amidst the straggling crowds of people and when, at last, they arrived at the house where Helena was staying they stopped and sat on the front porch swing together.

"It's so quiet," observed Myka as she looked out toward the city. She loved how quaint and perfect everything seemed. It was just like she always imagined scenes from books of the period.

"Emma?" Helena asked breaking Myka from her imaginings.

Myka turned to her. "Yes?" The blue eyes caused Helena's thoughts to cloud and she turned away. Whatever she was feeling she did not want to think about it in the moment.

Helena cleared her throat. "I was wondering." She was not entirely sure she knew what she wanted to ask, but the words spilled out of her before she could rein them in. "Would you like to come to the house tomorrow? In the early afternoon? We'll be headed back to the Exposition, but I would so love for you to accompany us." Myka stared at her not knowing how to respond. Helena sensed a rejection brewing and immediately blurted, "Or, perhaps I could show you around the city? Andrew tells me you're to move here this summer."

The move to Chicago had completely slipped her mind. In all the confusion Myka had somehow managed to forget entirely about Emma's future. "Ah. I suppose looking around the city would be all right," she said haltingly. Maybe this was what she was supposed to do. If nothing else, perhaps she could begin piecing together information to later help Helena during her investigation. She did the math in her head and decided her twenty-two hours would not be up by then and she could spend the day with Helena if she chose. "Yes, yes, that will be fine. Great."

Helena broke into a happy smile. "Wonderful! We'll have a grand time, I'm sure of it. I'll send a carriage for you in the morning. Is nine o'clock too early?"

"Nine? No, no that will be fine," said Myka. Having the whole morning would give her plenty of time to investigate. And, she had to admit to herself, she was thoroughly enjoying spending time with the Helena of this time period. It was truly amazing to see her operate with all her fierceness absent any of the sorrows that lay ahead. But it was not until the carriage arrived to take her home that Myka realized her time with Helena would end far too soon. Knowing she would not be able to see her like this again she decided she did not want to miss a moment of it. "Or…" Myka said slowly. "Since we'll be leaving so early, I suppose I could…" she did not finish her sentence. It immediately occurred to her that inviting herself to spend the night with Helena might not be in her best interests.

"What?" Helena tried to figure out Myka's unspoken thought, and it hit her suddenly. "Yes, of course! Why didn't I think of that? Come along, dear. We'll just fetch some personal belongings for you and come back here for the evening." She held out her hand to help Myka from the swing, and Myka took it but held onto it a little too long. Helena wove their fingers together before she had a chance to withdraw. As Myka did her best not to panic Helena joyously led her to their horse-drawn transport. The expressions on their faces could not have contrasted more, but in their hearts they both felt the same.

 

* * *

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

Claudia looked up from her laptop and shook her head. They were still at it. She had put her ipod on and blocked out the arguing a while ago. Helena had not reacted well to Artie's decision to put Myka in the bronzer, and Claudia did not blame her in the slightest. She looked at her watch. They had been arguing for nearly two hours. It had been forty-five minutes since she left the area to call Doctor Calder. Though Artie's suggestion was probably sound, she figured if anyone could be a voice of reason it would be Dr. Vanessa. She should be arriving any minute. Claudia turned off her ipod and Helena's raised voice immediately filled the void.

"Absolutely not! I won't have it!" Helena's eyes burned with ferocity. She stood protectively over Myka's prone body with her hands on her hips as she glared in Artie's direction.

"H.G.," he said with exasperation. "How many times have we been through this? I've told you, she cannot possibly sit in that chair for three weeks!"

Claudia ducked out of the room, completely ignored in the acrimony of the moment. She walked to the front office and returned fifteen minutes later with Dr. Calder in tow. As they entered the H.G. Wells area Helena's voice shot out at Artie.

"Are you always this dense or is today a special day for you? I keep telling you there's no way to know how the connection would be affected if you put her in there! You simply cannot do it!"

Artie roared back, "You're only objection is based on personal distaste due to your own experiences – experiences that have _no_ place in this decision!" His face was red and Claudia was sure his blood pressure was through the roof. She exchanged looks with Dr. Calder. "And for the last time, we simply do not have the capability to run _that_ much power through the grid for _three weeks_! It will fry every conduit we have!"

"Choice? You want to talk about choice? What kind of choice are you giving Myka?" Helena countered. "She didn't ask for this, and I'm pretty sure being flash-frozen while _unconscious_ – without the slightest idea how it might affect her would not be high on her list of things she'd appreciate!" She ran her hand through her hair and huffed loudly.

"She doesn't get a choice. _I_ get the choice. _I_ make the decision for her, not _you_!" Artie yelled in response.

"Actually," Dr. Calder stepped forward. "I think I get to make that decision. And right now, I think someone needs to explain what's going on." She glanced at Myka and walked over to her. "What's happening here?"

"Doc-Doc-Doctor Calder," sputtered Artie. Her sudden appearance caused him to stutter more than usual.

She smiled in response. "Hello Artie." He made a strange sound in his throat and his hands flailed as he tried to decide where to put them. She laughed softly as he finally stuffed them in his pockets.

"Er… What are you… When did you…" His questions dropped into the air and were replaced by a growl as he caught Claudia's eye. "Spawn of Satan!" he fired in her direction. Claudia shrunk behind the doctor.

"She did the right thing, Artie. When it comes to the medical decisions of all Warehouse agents, you know I'm the final word." She looked between Helena and Artie. "Now what's going on?"

As they explained the situation Dr. Calder listened intently. When they finished – and had clearly laid out the ensuing reasons for and against Myka's bronzing – as well as answered all the related questions she had for them regarding the machine, Dr. Calder offered her opinion.

"I believe Ms. Wells is correct," she said looking at Helena.

"At last!" Helena sighed with relief. She no longer felt the need to guard Myka from Artie's intentions. Her battle with Artie won she sat down on the machine's platform.

"And, really, H.G. Wells is alive? And you're a woman? This place never ceases to amaze me." Dr. Calder reached over to Myka's wrist and took her pulse. "How long until Pete is due back," she asked keeping her eyes on her watch.

"Uh," Claudia tapped on her keyboard. "He's got another eighteen hours," she said.

"And you're sure Myka won't be, how did you put it? Reintegrated? She won't be reintegrated at the same time he is?" She took out a pad of paper and scribbled a few notations.

"Positive," said Claudia. "The sub-routine for the transfer sent Pete to one time and Myka to another. She won't be back for three weeks."

Dr. Calder nodded her head to indicate she understood. "Well, I'm afraid if no one has any better ideas we may have no choice but to take Myka to the hospital."

"What? No, we can't," said Helena as she stood again. "We can't disconnect her from the machine. Doing so would mean she'd be lost forever."

Artie threw his hands into the air. No matter what suggestion they made the only solutions they had put either Myka or the Warehouse at physical risk. He was beyond frustrated and as he tussled his own hair he realized how disheveled he looked. He glanced at Dr. Calder before stammering, "I, uh, I need to, uh" he pointed toward the Warehouse office. "I'm just going to… there's a… I'll be right back," he said and hurried out of the area.

"What's the matter with him?" Helena asked.

"Oh, nothing," Claudia said in a slightly amused voice. She knew exactly what was wrong with Artie. She muttered to herself as she went back to her laptop, "Nothing a shower and a change of clothes can't fix."

"Ms. Wells," Dr. Calder began. "Exactly what do you think would happen if we did put Agent Bering into the bronzer?"

Helena sighed heavily. "I don't know for sure, but I am concerned the flash-freezing will interfere with the connection – there's no telling what could happen. The only thing I _do_ know," she said flippantly, "is that unless you know of some alternate method of preserving her in stasis or turning her into a self-generating power source, our problem remains unresolved."

Dr. Calder tilted her head. "Stasis and self-generating power source…" her voice trailed off as she spoke. Helena turned to her.

"Yes, some means by which we can disconnect the device from the power grid without losing the power consumption needed to…" she realized Dr. Calder was not listening and turned to Claudia. "Did I miss something?" Claudia shrugged in response.

"No, no, I just… I think I may know someone who can help us." Dr. Calder reached for her cell phone.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I'm not sure that's such a good idea," cautioned Claudia. "After the day we've just had, I think Artie might seriously go nuclear if we brought in an outsider."

"Oh! No, we're fine. This doctor's consulted for me on Warehouse matters before," replied Dr. Calder as she dialed. "She's well-versed in the strange and abnormal." Dr. Calder waited for the phone to ring and then spoke into the receiver. "Hello, yes, this is Dr. Calder with Warehouse 13. I'm calling for Dr. Magnus. Dr. Helen Magnus."


	5. Tangled Webs

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Five, Tangled Webs

  


 

(Chicago, 1898)

 

"I thought these things were supposed to be quaint?" Pete complained bitterly. The horse-drawn cart in which Helena and he traveled rocked back and forth along the road. It jostled and bumped so hard against the cobblestones he found himself clutching to the sides of his wooden seat just to keep from bouncing right out of it into the street. This was not his most favorite mode of transportation. Together Helena and he made numerous stops along their afternoon route and were finally on the last leg of their journey to meet with Nikola Tesla as evening began to fall. Pete looked forward to the visit with the Warehouse architect; he was excited to shake the man's hand. The rear wheel of the cart hit a large hole in the road and Pete's teeth knocked together painfully. "Ow!" He exclaimed. "Seriously not a fun day," he mumbled loud enough for Helena to hear.

"I take it you walk most of the time?" Helena asked. She shook her head and tried not to laugh at his discomfort, amusing as it was. They rode in silence for the next few minutes until finally pulling to a stop near a long housing row. "Here we are, Mr. Stevenson." She turned toward him and smiled to herself. "I think you can let go of the seat now." Helena let herself down out of the carriage and quickly stepped toward the driver. She asked him to wait for them before stepping back to wait on Pete's exit from the rickety vehicle.

Pete grumbled as he jumped down. "Thank God!" he exclaimed when his feet hit the sidewalk. He looked around while rubbing his backside. The last few blocks had been especially brutal with the number of bumps and divots in the road. "Where are we?"

"This is the Hull House Annex, Mr. Stevenson. The main building area is strictly for women, but the Annex serves as a temporary boarding space for men. I'm afraid I am unable to enter unaccompanied. I will need you to come with me to gain access to Mr. Tesla. Please." The tone of her last word sounded as if requiring Pete's presence were the most distasteful thing she could imagine. She turned and walked toward the front entrance.

"Nikola Tesla? As in the guy who invented the Tesla gun?" Pete asked as he caught up to her.

"The very same," she said. "Nikola, though eccentric, is quite brilliant. I've never met anyone with a better understanding behind electromagnetism." They approached the steps to the building and Helena opened the door. They entered into a large waiting area filled with men and women. In the rear of the room a door to the stairwell was marked "No Women Beyond This Point." Helena headed straight for it.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I can't allow you through that door." A young doorman stepped in front of her. He could not have been more than twenty based on his appearance. That he could so easily walk through the barred door and not she was a bitter reminder of the social injustices she faced. She did her best not to let the irritation show.

"It's quite all right, I'm on my way to see my brother," she said. It seemed to her the misogyny of America was worse than in England, and a good deal more hypocritical.

"I'm sorry, Miss. Everyone says they have a sister, mother, or aunt coming to see them. I'm just not allowed." The young man continued to bar her entrance.

"Fine. Then you shall have to let us enter in the name of the…" She turned to Pete waiting for him to answer.

"Oh. Right. In the name of the… uh…" Pete hurriedly searched his pockets. "In the name of the uh," he felt a wallet in his breast pocket and reached for it. Flipping it open he saw a Secret Service badge, though very different from the one he was used to seeing in his own wallet. "The Secret Service!" he said producing the badge for the young man to see.

The doorman examined the badge and looked at each of them in turn. "Oh. Uh, okay. Who are you here to see?" the young man asked Pete.

"Nikola Tesla," Pete said. He was glad something finally was going his way.

"Third floor up, second door on the right," he said and opened the door for them without further protest. Helena led the way muttering about the absurdity of backward customs and climbed the stairs quickly. Pete followed behind wondering why they were going to see an electrician. When they arrived at the proper door Helena knocked three times. A few moments later the door was thrown open by a man of average height with a manicured head of black hair.

"Well if it isn't Irene Adler in the flesh," he said with a smile. "And who is this?" He gave Pete a quick once-over and commented, "Let me guess – it's Scotland Yard's very own Inspector Lestrade!"

"Really, Nikola, must do that? You know I detest it," said Helena pushing her way past him into his room. He turned to follow her and let the door go forgetting Pete remained in the hall. Pete rushed in as the door started to swing shut.

"Hi, Mr. Tesla. I'm…" Pete held out his hand but Nikola's back was turned and he continued walking after Helena instead of turning around to greet him. Pete scrunched his face. Nikola's attitude annoyed him but he followed dutifully into the living space.

"Ah, but you're _the_ woman, H.G.! You remain the one and _only_ heroin to foil the legendary Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Nikola's grin widened. "James never has gotten over that."

"I imagine not," said Helena as she removed her gloves. She sat and Nikola followed suit.

"I'm not sure if it's because you're a woman," he said with amusement, "or if it's because you've always been able to outsmart him despite being… au naturel." He splayed his fingers flamboyantly and stressed the words with a French accent. "Natural beauty and brains," he said coyly, "such a deadly combination."

She rolled her eyes at him. "James is just an insufferable arrogant prat." Nikola laughed.

"Oh, Irene, you say the nicest things." Nikola's eyes danced as he spoke. "Speaking of…" he said eyeing her closely. "The doctor sends her regards." Helena took in a deep breath at the allusion to their mutual acquaintance.

"How is she?" Helena asked. Her brow furrowed slightly as she spoke.

"Better... She only brings it up occasionally, now." Nikola watched as Helena exhaled and looked down at her hands. She rolled the ring on her finger and said, "Tell her… Nikola, I didn't…" She fumbled for words and looked up at him with sadness shadowing her eyes. "I _am_ sorry, you know."

"I know," he said. "She's knows, too." He paused a moment before adding, "Though I do wish the timing had been better." She made an expression as if to agree and he nodded. "But, no matter, it's all in the past!" His face brightened with his dismissal of the subject and he poured himself a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table. "Wine? Château Latour," he said looking at the label. "I must order some for the cellar. I think it's the best they've produced so far." She shook her head and laid her hands in her lap. "More for me then!" Nikola jested and set the bottle back in place.

Pete spoke up. "Wait. Back up. You mean, you knew Sherlock Holmes? The whole 'elementary my dear Watson' and all that?" He looked between the two with wonder as the idea of it settled in his mind.

"Mmm," Helena nodded her head in acknowledgment. "James has a keen mind, I'll give him that, but he's considerably less likable than Mr. Doyle's fictional character."

"James?" Pete asked. "James who?"

"James Watson. Sherlock's true name." Pete shook his head in amazement at her answer. Truth really could be stranger than fiction.

"Ah, where are my manners?" Nikola suddenly decided to acknowledge Pete's presence. He jumped from his chair. "Please, dear Lestrade, have a seat." Nikola led him to a chair and patted him firmly on the shoulders before returning to his own. He crossed his legs and eyed Helena as he sipped from his glass. "So, H.G., tell me. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know very well why I'm here, Nikola." Helena's voice grew pointed. "I want to know where she is." Helena stared into his face without blinking. Her eyes seemed to burn with her inquiry. Whoever she was trying to find it was evident she believed Nikola knew something about it.

"I do love it when you get that look," he said. "Something about it is just so damned sexy." He grinned at her and took another sip.

"Nikola," she said with her warning evident in her tone.

"All right, all right," Nikola said with a wave of his hand. "She's here. In Chicago." Helena sat forward at his statement. "But," he held up his hand. "Like I said James is still uncertain as to her true identity, although he did say he might have an answer by today. Do you want me to see if he's in? He's staying upstairs." Nikola uncrossed his legs and moved to stand but Helena shook her head and he sat back in his chair again.

"No, that won't be necessary. Tell me where she is and I'll confirm it myself." Helena held his gaze waiting for the information. Nikola drained his glass and set it on the table. He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

"She's at one of those addresses. According to James she hasn't left the home in weeks except to go to the first two locations on the list. He's had his little spies keeping an eye on her." Nikola poured himself another glass of wine and began sipping it. "What do you want her for, anyway?"

"James always did love his little spies," she said glancing at the paper and tucking it into her vest pocket. She did not acknowledge his question.

"Uh, where who is?" Pete asked. If they were getting ready to confront a bad guy he wanted to know more about it.

Nikola looked at Pete and then settled his gaze on Helena. "You mean Lestrade doesn't know?" Keeping her partner in the dark could not have been a good sign. Helena, sensing his sudden concern, stood from her seat.

She turned to answer Pete, ignoring yet another of Nikola's questions, and pulled on her gloves. "Her name is Minnie Williams, and she holds the key to a great many things. Come, Mr. Stevenson, we must be off - and thank you, Nikola. As always you're a true friend." She gave him an appreciative smile and briskly proceeded to the door with Pete following closely behind her. Nikola sprang from his seat to see them out and tugged on Pete's coat when Helena walked through the door.

"Did she tell you what this was about?" Nikola looked him in the eye as he asked the question.

"Uh, yeah, she said this was a personal matter, unofficial, unless we find evidence of the missing scalpel. That's all I know. Why?" Pete looked at him and narrowed his eyes as he felt the negative vibe wash over him. "Something tells me this isn't going to be good."

"Personal…" Nikola looked down briefly and then back at Pete. Urgency filled his voice and all trace of the sardonic tone he held previously completely disappeared. "Mr. Stevenson, do you mean this is not an _official_ Warehouse investigation?" Pete's blank look told him all he needed to know. "That woman," he said gritting his teeth. "I should have known she was up to something." Pete looked toward the stairwell at his words. "Forget it, she's already gone. You won't catch her. We have to find James. If we don't get to Miss Williams before H.G. does..." He let the sentence fall short and grabbed his coat from the peg on the wall. "Come along, Lestrade," he said grabbing Pete's arm as he hurried through the door. "There's no time to waste!"

 

* * *

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

Helena sat staring at her plate of food, unable to eat despite knowing she should. She was still reeling from coming to terms with the reality that it had been Myka in Emeline's body all those years ago. When Dr. Calder decided to call Helen Magnus, it only served to become her breaking point. Confident Dr. Calder would risk anything before risking the life of her patient Helena left the Warehouse and returned home to think. What she needed was a hot bath and a book to take her mind off of everything, but she already knew she would not have the ability to concentrate on anything other than the thoughts swirling in her head.

Part of her was still furious with Artie for even suggesting he wanted to bronze Myka. It was more than the risk such an action could cause – it was in knowing, from her own personal incarceration, what it meant to spend so much time trapped inside. Myka's mind being elsewhere meant she would have been spared the torturous experience, Helena knew, but the thought of seeing Myka encapsulated horrified her. Even if they could have mitigated risk to the connection, there was no way she could ever have allowed Myka to be bronzed. The image formed in her mind and she shuddered. She blinked it away and thought of Dr. Calder's words to her. A solution to the problem was being investigated, and Dr. Magnus would let her know in the morning what, if anything, she might be able to do to help. That was when Helena knew she could take no more for the night. The entire day had all been too much, and she left saying only that she would return in the morning.

Leena, upon seeing her face when she entered, sat her down with a hot meal and a cup of tea. It had been a kind gesture, but wholly unnecessary as she had not moved since being left to sit at the table with her meal. She lifted her fork and pulled it through the mashed potatoes on her plate. The pool of melted butter in the mound's center began a slow trickle down the path she left with the utensil. It met with the runoff from the vegetables on her plate and the conjoining rivulets seemed analogous to the unraveled intermingling of her past and present. So much of who she had been changed that summer with Emeline's death. To find now, after all this time, that the only person she had ever _truly_ loved in that way was the very person who occupied so much of her heart in the present, seemed impossible to comprehend. It had been Myka whom she loved, and it had been Myka who had broken her heart. Both were troublesome ideas and she was having difficulty grasping what it all meant. But, worse, was the growing fear inside her she might never see Myka again.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1893)

 

Myka awoke to the sound of Helena's rustling in the room next to her. It was just like their arrangements at home, side by side, and knowing Helena was right next door had reminded her of the Inn. She had slept soundly feeling less strange in this unexpected time simply because Helena was nearby. She stretched and let herself collapse into the comfort of the warm bedding. It was morning, and she would be spending the day in the city with Helena. She heard a door open and then close followed by the sound of footsteps approaching her door. A knock followed by Helena's tentative voice brought the first smile of the day to her lips.

"Emma? Are you awake yet?" Helena called out gingerly.

"Yes, I am," Myka responded quickly. "Come in, the door isn't locked." Moments later the doorknob turned and Helena let herself into the room. She smiled broadly when she saw Emma still tucked under her covers.

"Wake up sleepy-head! It's a _glorious_ morning! What do you want to see today?" Helena stood at the foot of her bed still wearing her night-clothes. For some reason Myka had imagined an ankle-length thick cotton nightgown. In her mind's eye that was the nightwear of Victorian times; she quickly decided it must have been just a reinforced idea stemming from so many viewings of ' _Pride and Prejudice_ '. Instead of the modest nightgown she expected to see, Helena stood before her wearing a thigh-length half-gown made of mostly sheer lace along with a matching robe she had left untied.

Myka's voice caught in her throat. She could think of nothing to say as her eyes dropped and she stared at the slender legs disappearing under the garment's hem. As her view traveled upward she slowly became aware the woman wore no camisole and the realization made her swallow hard. Helena noticed the location of Myka's lingering gaze and followed it to her open robe. She laughed and loosely tied it freeing Myka's vision. "Excuse me," she said with no embarrassment whatsoever. "I was so eager to start our day I just threw on the robe and came over to see if you were awake yet."

Myka found her voice, though only barely. "No, it's… you're fine. Really."

Helena walked over and sat on the bed next to her dumbstruck house-guest. She patted Myka on the leg and said, "Well, as you're still nice and comfy if you'd like to make it a lazy morning, I don't blame you. I daresay one of my most favorite things in the world is staying snuggled under the blankets on a cold spring day." She turned her face toward the window and smiled toward the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

Helena was a vision of loveliness to Myka's eyes. Her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, and the loosely tied robe gave just enough slack for Myka to take in the curve of her breasts against the delicate fabric. She nervously cleared her throat at the sight and turned away. "No, I'm up. I'm definitely up," she declared and swung her legs out from under the covers and over the side of the bed. She stood quickly and turned toward Helena, but from her height advantage she realized she could now see directly down Helena's neckline without any obstruction. Her face immediately flushed and she turned away too quickly stepping face-first into the wall behind her.

Helena roared with laughter. "Are you sure about that? It seems to me you might could use a few more minutes?"

Myka rubbed at her bruised forehead and turned around. "No, I, uh…" She looked at the bemused expression on Helena's face and could not help but smile in return. She dropped her hand and shook her head. "You know what? Nevermind," she said with a laugh and tucked her legs back under the covers again as she leaned her back against the headboard. "I'm just going to sit right here until I finish waking up."

Helena turned toward her with a gleam in her eyes. "I think I'll join you," she said and climbed across Myka to the other side. She pulled back the comforter saying, "The day is a bit brisk to be up so early," before burying herself in its warmth. They spent the next two hours laughing and telling each other stories until finally deciding it was time to start their day.


	6. Precursors

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Six, Precursors

  


 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

Dr. Vanessa Calder glanced at a clipboard near Pete's leg and checked her watch. It was still early in the morning, but it was time to check her patient's vital signs and there was a schedule to be kept. She proceeded to check Pete's pulse and blood pressure before picking up the clipboard and scribbling her findings on one of the many sheets of paper she had affixed to his file. She looked up and a smile appeared on her face as Helena Wells walked into the room. "Good morning, Ms. Wells. Did you sleep well?" Helena shook her head in response.

"Not very, unfortunately," she said with a small sigh. "I had difficulty dropping off, what with everything." She placed her hands in her pockets and looked down at her feet for a brief moment. It had been a long night full of tossing and turning until exhaustion finally took her in the early morning hours. She had not slept much, but it was enough to keep her going. Enough for now anyway. She only wished her dreams could have been less vivid. They were far less restful than the preceding waking hours had been, as difficult as that was for her to believe; Myka's face tormented her through every restless moment.

"Yes, you look like you could have used a few more hours," Dr. Calder said observationally before reaching for her medical kit. "I think I have something in my bag to help you sleep better tonight. Something mild." Helena gave her a thankful smile and ran her fingers through her hair as she looked toward the platform where Pete and Myka lay perfectly still. She might need the help, she thought as she watched them. It was going to be a long three weeks.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1893)

 

"Honestly, Emma, I don't know how you manage," Helena said with a slight shake of her head. "All those laces and the constriction just bother me far too much. The popularity never ceases to amaze me. I've never succumbed to the fashion." Myka emerged from behind the dressing screen wearing yet another Charvet dress.

"The corset is not my favorite thing," Myka agreed shifting her arms uncomfortably and trying not to breathe too deeply. "But, with these dresses they are sort of necessary." She had always loved the look of the Victorian styles, with the elegance and formality. She knew now it was only a romanticized ideal, and her experience birthed a new appreciation for modern clothing.

"If you say so," Helena said with an air of doubt. She looked up as Myka stepped from behind the screen and smiled. "I much prefer your hair down like that," she said. "It's so seldom I see a woman without her hair up these days."

"Oh, yeah, I just… I don't know," Myka said. "It just suits me more, I think." She did not bother to share how impossible she found the hair pins to be. It was another fashion she could do without. She pricked herself enough times that morning to throw them all into a drawer and risk becoming a trendsetter for women's hairstyles.

"Well, I quite like it," Helena said as she stood. "I may decide to do the same with my own hair today." She walked slowly to the other woman's side and raised her hand to Myka's hair as she considered the style. She let her fingers glide through the silky tresses unintentionally brushing lightly against Myka's neck as she did so. The touch of her fingers was divine. The unfamiliar feel of Helena's touch was as unsettling as the warmth in her eyes and Myka blinked before looking away. She could not help but contrast the moment to the ones from her own time. Though they shared an uncommon bond Myka could never describe, and while thoughts of Helena invaded at the most inconvenient times, their physical contact had always been severely limited. Myka was suddenly thankful for that as she contemplated her response to the woman's caress. She realized now the later lack of contact between them was intentional and had more to do with Helena than anything else. Whatever led the woman from her own time to be so reserved, that limitation did not exist here.

Helena moved behind her letting one hand slide with her movement, while another lifted and examined the look of the shoulder-length hair. Whether intentionally or not, Myka did not know, Helena's thumb moved ever-so-gently against the back of her neck. Myka convulsed as the tremor it caused raced through her body and she stepped forward delivering herself from the delicious torture. "I'm sorry," Helena said and stepped back bewildered. "Did I do something wrong?" Myka felt a lump form in the back of her throat. She was not ready for this discussion. Not here. Not now. "Forgive me, Emma. I didn't mean to upset you." Myka's eyes closed briefly. Helena had mistaken the reaction, but at least she was free of the intoxicating touch.

"No, Helena," Myka turned to face her. "I'm the one who's sorry. You did nothing wrong. I'm just…" She looked up briefly and sighed, trying to think of a way to explain without saying too much. "It's just, this is a really strange time in my life." Her eyes slightly misted as she settled on her response. Emeline and Helena were destined for a future, and Myka knew it did not involve her. However that fate was to come into existence for the two destined lovers, Myka did not want to cause any unnecessary complications for either of them. "I'm sure in another day or so I'll be back to my old self," she said forcing herself to smile. There were only a few hours left before she would return to her own time; all she needed to do was to hold out until then.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1898)

 

Pete checked the piece of paper in his hand. He had visited all of the addresses on his list. James and Nikola had gone in search of the other four. Per the agreement he made with Nikola and his friend James, should he come up empty he was to return to the Hull House Annex and check for messages with the doorman. He was not far from the residence, but he knew a carriage would be faster. He grumbled thinking of the ride through the streets and decided to jog the distance rather than risk more bruises from the near-certain bumpy ride.

He arrived fifteen minutes later and leaned over the rail on the front stoop. As he worked to regulate his breathing both Nikola and Watson came rushing out of the building. "There you are, man, where have you been?" James Watson's irritated voice called out to him.

"What?" Pete gasped. "I just got here." He half-heartedly waved his hand down the street and said, "I checked all the addresses. She wasn't at any of them."

"James, are there any other places we haven't checked?" Nikola looked up and down the street as he asked his question.

"I can think of no place," said Watson. "We've checked every location my street urchins were able to uncover." Pete looked over as Watson spoke. The man was tall and thin, with a Roman nose and gaunt cheeks. He spoke with a distinction matched by the clarity in his eyes, but the urgency of their quest caused him to carry a decidedly drawn expression in his face.

"What gives, anyway? What's so special about this Minnie Williams?" Pete straightened as he spoke, his breathing finally returned to normal.

Nikola and Watson exchanged looks and Watson explained. "Minnie Williams was the fiancé of, as well as a co-conspirator with, one Dr. Henry Howard Holmes – formerly known as Henry Webster Mudgett. He was known to her as Henry Gordon. In 1893, while he proceeded to commit the most heinous crimes imaginable, she kept his confidence revealing none of his activities to anyone. It was only years after his capture, and her suspected death, that the true nature of her involvement was known. She is believed to have helped capture, torture, and assist in killing many of Holmes' victims." His voice held no sign of emotion; he relayed the information as if it were a matter as banal as the weather.

"Okay, so why are you so worried about H.G. finding her?" Pete looked to each of them for further explanation.

"If H.G. were acting on official business, then there would be no need to worry," said Nikola. "But when she asked for that information today—" His statement was cut short by Watson.

"Which you should never have given her, Nikola." The reprimand was succinct and Watson's face showed his disapproval nearly as much as his words. "She is a formidable woman and her ties to this case should not have been taken lightly. You should have known better."

"Should have, would have, could have," Nikola disregarded Watson's serious tone. "How was I to know it wasn't an official inquiry?"

"When has she ever not had a hidden agenda?" Watson snapped. His manner revealed a growing impatience with Nikola's cavalier attitude. "The woman has a distorted point of view on the matter, you know this. Did you really not think she would do anything she could to get her hands on the person responsible for her friend's death?"

"Really, James, when I stop to think about it, I'm not entirely sure we need to intervene too soon." Nikola avoided Watson's piercing gaze as he picked at his waistcoat. "The only thing I care about is making sure H.G. doesn't go so overboard as to get caught. As long as this Miss Williams is who we think she is, what's the harm in letting her have her way for a little while?" Watson's scowl grew deeper at Nikola's flippancy.

"And that is the point!" Watson's voice rose with irritation. "We don't know if it's Minnie Williams, do we?" Watson retorted. "I've had my suspicions, but am no longer certain. Another day or two and I would have had confirmation one way or another."

"So, this Williams lady," Pete interjected trying to get the men back on point. "She's responsible for killing someone H.G. knew personally and that's why you think H.G. is going to hurt her?"

"That's one way to put it," said Nikola blithely. "Though I imagine she'll do a lot more than just hurt the woman." He flicked an offending piece of lint to the ground and turned to face Watson. "We've been at this for hours, and we've exhausted every known location where Williams currently calls. Where does the great Sherlock Holmes think we should try next?" Watson's lip twitched at the reminder of the fictional detective. He never appreciated Doyle's characterization, and Nikola knew it. He chose to ignore the baited question and started thinking of possibilities for Minnie's whereabouts. Nikola straightened his coat and wiped his sleeve. "And come up with something soon this drizzle is ruining my suit."

"What about unknown locations?" Pete offered. The two men turned to him. "You said we've looked in all the _known_ locations. These are all places she's been seen at _recently_." Pete looked between Nikola and Watson. "What about the places from her past? From five years ago, back when she was in cahoots with the Doctor?"

Watson's eyes narrowed as he took in the words. He paused and said, "Yes, there is a certain element to that idea." His face slackened as realization dawned upon him. "Quickly, we must find a carriage. I know exactly where they are."

 

* * *

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"Well, looks like she'll be arriving any moment," Dr. Calder ended her phone call and placed her cell phone in her coat pocket.

"Who is?" Claudia walked into the gated area and set her belongings down on a table. She pulled an apple from the pile and took a bite.

"Dr. Magnus," she said. "She's not far. I suppose I should head up to the office and let her in. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Oh, no need, Artie's up in the office. I'll send him an instant message and let him know." Claudia replied. She bit into the apple and let it sit in her mouth as she opened her laptop and sat. Dr. Calder nodded her thanks and went back to her paperwork. Claudia began typing:

 

> _Claudtastic: Hey Artman, Dr. V says guest arriving she wants u 2 let her n_
> 
> _ANielsen: what guest?_
> 
> _Claudtastic: Dr. Magnus_
> 
> _ANielsen: you couldn't just use the Farnsworth like a normal person?_
> 
> _Claudtastic: U srsly think nrml ppl use Farnsworths?_
> 
> _ANielsen: you know what I mean_
> 
> _Claudtastic: Sad but tru lolz_
> 
> _ANielsen: and stop typing like that, you know I hate it._
> 
> _Claudtastic: :)  
>  _
> 
> _ANielsen: I am going to find a way to get rid of the block you put on uninstalling this damn program!_
> 
> _Claudtastic: ROFL!_
> 
> _ANielsen: stop bothering me, I have work to do._
> 
> _Claudtastic: Whatev. Laterz!_

Claudia took the apple from her mouth and laughed as she closed the messenger program. She had installed it on all the computer terminals around the Warehouse despite Artie's objections. He had already tried ridding it from his own computers, but every time he did so it just reappeared the next time he logged into the system. She made it a point to message him at least once a day. "Message delivered, he'll see the doctor in," said Claudia with a smile. She looked at the clock on her display and then glanced at the platform with a sigh.

"Something wrong?" asked Dr. Calder.

"Huh?" Claudia looked back at her. "No, nothing's wrong. Just thankful there are only a couple of hours left until Pete's back."

"Artie still giving you a hard time?" Dr. Calder asked with a sympathizing look.

Claudia let out a groan. "When _isn't_ he giving me a hard time?" The young agent scrunched her face in frustration. "I swear that man's face appears next to the word curmudgeon in the dictionary." Dr. Calder laughed. While she agreed that Artie could occasionally be overly harsh with the young agent, she knew how much he truly cared for her. Claudia was the closest to a daughter he would ever have, and his endearing paternal instincts often came out in ways easy to misread. As she mused her face softened. She liked Artie's peculiar personality, and she adored his good heart even if she was the only one who really understood it.

Faint sounds and crackling noises roused them both from their thoughts. Whatever disturbed the Warehouse grew closer and they could both see large energy discharges erupting overhead. Streaks of highly ionized lightning-like flashes shot out above them landing with cascades of sparks as they hit metallic beams in the ceiling. The two women looked at one another wondering what the hell was happening.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1898)

 

"What is this place?" Pete looked at the darkened building before him. It was an imposing three-story brick structure with false battlements and wooden bay windows. The first floor appeared to be made up entirely by small stores and shops.

"This, my dear Lestrade, is the infamous Holmes Murder Castle – full of mystery, torture, and death," said Nikola ominously. "Enter only if you dare."

"Quit being so melodramatic!" Watson scolded his comrade. "This is no joking matter. Honestly, Nikola, do you take _nothing_ seriously?"

"Oh, come on, that was funny." Nikola feigned offense and addressed Pete. "It was a little funny." Pete said nothing in response.

"Agent Stevenson," Watson began. "This is the former home of Dr. Holmes. It hasn't been lived in for some time, but this is where he took his victims and held them prisoner until disposing of them. If H.G. has Minnie Williams, this is where she's taken her."

"Well let's go get her then," said Pete and he started for the entrance. Watson placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"If you're going to join us, it would be best if you stay behind me." Watson advised him. "The building's design is meant to confuse strangers and obfuscate its proper paths."

"It's a building. It's not like it can jump out and attack us," said Pete. When Watson and Nikola exchanged glances he added, "Can it?"

"Come along, Lestrade, we've a damsel in distress." Nikola pulled on his arm and Pete began voicing his protests wanting to know what sort of dangers awaited them in the castle. Neither Nikola nor Watson paid him any attention.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1893)

 

Helena and Myka walked along the sidewalks taking in the sights and sounds of the festive city. Crowds of people swarmed the streets on their way to and from the fairgrounds, and they decided to duck into a shop so Myka could look for new clothing. She decided she had enough of the period's style and wanted to find something more comfortable.

"I don't think Charles will think much of your choices," Helena said as Myka browsed a rack of trousers. "He's never approved of my eschewing of the more feminine styles."

Myka beamed a smile in her direction and said, "Tell him to wear some of those feminine styles and see if he changes his mind." Myka selected two pairs and proceeded to a display of blouses. She found a few she liked and walked back toward the changing room. "I'll be right back!"

"Take your time, we're in no rush," said Helena as she examined the fabric on a black coat with white ruffles sewn into the tail section. She pulled it from the hangar and tried it on. She looked into the mirror and decided it looked as perfect as it fit. In the mirror's reflection she saw Emeline step out of the dressing room. Helena turned to her and examined the ensemble. "It suits you," she said with a smile.

Myka looked down at her slightly masculine outfit and grinned. "I think so, too," she said. Though not as stylish as her own clothes, they were certainly much more comfortable than what she had just been wearing. She had selected a plain white blouse and left the first three buttons undone beneath the maroon vest she chose to accompany it. After two days in a corset she relished the feeling of freedom. Her trousers were dark with partial pleats and provided a pleasing contrast to the rich vest. She held a scarf the color of the pants in her hands and lithely hung it from her neck before she looked at Helena for final approval.

Helena's eyes twinkled. "My dear, I do believe people will think I've been a bad influence on you."

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1898)

 

"This place is unbelievable," said Pete in a hushed tone. Watson walked in front of him and had pointed out various traps and areas to avoid as they made their way to the upper floors. Nikola circled through another part of the house, hoping that covering more ground would lead them to find H.G. and Miss Williams more quickly.

"Indeed," Watson stated quietly and continued his climb up the stairwell. He had said little while they ventured, preferring to reserve his attentions to the details of the house. His memory was sharp and he was sure he knew the proper paths, but he did not want to risk making any errors. In this place one false move could leave them trapped.

They reached the landing on the third floor and Pete looked around. His eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light streaming through the upper windows. The ones at eye-level had been covered with what looked like sheets of iron. It was a bizarre look and he had a hard time understanding the purposes Dr. Holmes had in mind. Already he had seen trap-doors, stairwells that led nowhere, and doors that opened into walls. The maze of the strange and bewildering designs could easily have confused even the most diligent visitor. But it was not until Watson led him into a series of rooms he referred to as "asphyxiation chambers" and pointed out the vents leading to canisters of poisoned gas that Pete finally began to understand. Watson explained how the system worked to allow Dr. Holmes the ability to slowly torture and kill his victims. Everything about the house was designed to prevent escape. It made Pete shiver to think of how many people met their demise in the bowels of the monstrous home. When Watson pointed to a small metal door near one of the canisters and explained how it served as a chute directly to the basement where Holmes disposed of the bodies, Pete decided Nikola's description of the building as a "murder castle" might not have been as melodramatic as Watson believed.

"He would throw the bodies down the chute," Watson said as he opened the square door. "And in the basement he would dismember, burn, or dissolve the…" He let the sentence die and turned his head toward the chute.

"What is it?" said Pete picking up on the tension he suddenly felt. Watson silenced him with his hand. He leaned down and listened intently and then shot up with a start.

"Quickly, they're in the basement!" Watson darted out in front of him and flew out of the door toward the stairwell. Pete followed quickly. Together they took the stairs two at a time until they reached the bottom landing. Watson paused and looked around to orient himself before darting off again toward a hallway closet. He threw the door open and pressed hard against the rear wall until it finally slid open revealing a stairwell leading down. The passageway was lit, apparently having been used by H.G. prior to their arrival, and they descended in silence.

"Please, Miss, I don't know what you're on about, I don't, I swear it!" A frightened voice met their ears as they exited the stairwell into a large section of the basement. The voice came from the left. They walked toward it avoiding large pits and vats of something Pete saw were labeled as "HCl".

"You were there!" Helena's angry voice rang out. "You can try to deny it, but I know better. I remember seeing you in the drugstore that summer," she said. "I know you helped him, and I know you made her suffer. And now," they heard the sound of a revolver's hammer being drawn. "You will do to yourself exactly what you did to Emma."

They rounded the corner and saw a woman cowering near the back wall. She knelt in the dirt near an excavated section of the floor and Helena stood above her with a revolver pointed in her direction. To her left were vents and what was, presumably, the end of the chute from the third floor, along with pipes leading to multiple canisters. A large wooden door with no handles sat to the far left. Pete surmised this area must have been where Holmes gassed his victims before throwing them down into the waiting pit. He turned his head to the right and saw a large wooden split-table. It had chains and shackles attached to both ends, and a large set of gears with a hand-crank in the middle. Dark stains covered the wood and Pete knew it was blood; he chose not to try to think about how it got there.

"This place just keeps getting creepier," he said under his breath.

Helena turned at the sound of Pete's voice. "James! Agent Stevenson! What are you doing here?" Her face echoed the surprise in her voice.

"Please, please sirs, help me," the woman called out to them.

Helena moved to her left and placed the revolver against the woman's head causing the woman to tilt to the side. Pete ran to the right to try to outflank her. "Don't come any closer," Helena warned and he stopped in his tracks.

A sudden crashing sound pulled all their eyes to Helena's right as the large wooden door exploded into the room. Pete's vision was clouded momentarily by flying wooden fragments and he swore he saw a grotesque aberration of a man step through the gaping hole. But, when the dust settled, he saw it was only Nikola Tesla.

"This place is seriously starting to piss me off," said Nikola as he smacked the debris from his clothing. When he looked up and took in the scene before him he said, "Oh. Well, it seems I'm fashionably late, as usual. Helena, dear, do hurry and finish with your fun. I'd like to get back and wash the filth of this place off of me before it becomes permanent." He brushed wooden splinters from his hair with a huff.

"Nikola!" Watson reprimanded him sharply.

"I'm not going anywhere until this woman, this _monster_ ," Helena spat the word, "pays for what she did."

"There, you see, James? I told you that was all she wanted." Nikola said to Watson matter-of-factly. Watson glared but said nothing.

"Honest, I don't know what you're talking about, Miss. I swear it on my mother's grave!" The cowering woman pleaded.

"Liar!" Helena shouted. "She came to live here that summer, and you were here. You lived with him for over a year and you took Emma's life. Tell me, what was it? Did you poison her? Did you break her body until it ripped apart like was done to Robert? Tell me. And know that however she died, you will die in the same. Exact. Way!" Her voice grew strained and tears formed in her eyes as her despair turned to rage.

"Helena," James finally spoke to her. She turned and the two stared at one another. He broke the silence by saying, "Helena, what are you doing?"

"It was she, James. She's the one who did it. You _know_ that. It's in all the official records. Minnie Williams took Emma from this world," her voice choked when she added, "from me." Nikola watched her closely and folded his arms as he leaned against the wall next to the broken door.

"But, I'm not Minnie Williams I keep telling you," the woman protested. Tears flowed from her eyes at the sound of the terrible words and the threats of her own demise. "My name is Sarah, Sarah Lowell! I'm only visiting my brother, I don't even live here! I don't know anyone named Emma, and I have never seen you before in my life!"

"Stop. Lying!" Helena yelled. She pressed the revolver deeper into the woman's temple leaving an angry red mark where it scraped across her skin. "How did you murder that wonderful beautiful girl, Miss Williams? Was it the acid vats like it was for countless victims?" The woman bent her head and Helena continued. "Were you there when Holmes raped her? Did he dismember her like he did so many others?" She could no longer hold back the tears. They flowed freely and her arm shook from the emotion as she tried to dry her face with the back of her sleeve.

"Helena," James tried again. "You hate violence as much as I do." He took a small step forward. "Put the gun away. This is no way for someone of your caliber to behave – you're better than this. You've always been better than this – it's why you know in your heart what you're doing is wrong. Do not make this woman pay for someone else's crimes."

Helena's head shot up. "You think she's innocent? James how can you say that? She covered for that madman for over a year, she helped him kill countless men, women, and children! You were _there_ that summer, you know what it was like."

"Yes, I was," he said evenly. "But I don't believe _she_ was," he nodded his head toward the kneeling woman. Helena followed his eyes and looked up at him. "It may be that the official record is correct, and that Minnie Williams never survived her encounter with Dr. Holmes."

"What? What are you saying?" Confusion clouded her face. She looked down at the woman again.

Watson reached into his pocket and pulled out a singed photograph. He held it up for Helena to see. Pete began edging his way around the excavated pit and made it within thirty feet of the woman before Helena pointed her gun at him. "I said, don't come any closer, Mr. Stevenson." Pete held up his hands and took a few steps backward.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, I'm stepping back," he said soothingly. Helena watched him take three steps and placed the revolver back at the woman's head.

"Helena! Look at this photograph!" James took a bold step forward. Helena glared at him and he stopped, but held his hand out so she could clearly see the image. "This is Minnie Williams, Helena. This is the woman you seek. She is not the woman at your feet." Helena examined the image.

"They are the same," she said defiantly.

"Look closer," he commanded. "What do you see?" Helena's eyes darted over the photograph. "I did not know for certain until just now, but I am confident the woman you hold at your mercy is not the woman responsible for all that horror all those years ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about, James, they look identical!" Helena's brow furrowed but the doubt in her face and voice emboldened Watson.

"Look," he took another step forward. "The woman in the photograph, she's wearing a set of matching pearl earrings."

Helena looked at the photograph again. She looked back at the woman kneeling in the dirt. "No. It can't be. It's her, I know it was her."

"They look disturbingly similar, yes, but," his right hand pointed at Helena's hostage. "This woman has no piercings by which she could have worn such earrings. Tonight was the closest I have been able to get, and you can see as well as I that this cannot be Minnie Williams."

Helena looked at the photograph again and looked up at James as he stepped forward and took the gun from her hand. She offered no resistance. Pete moved toward the woman on the ground, and Nikola walked toward Helena. When he reached her he gently took her arm and she folded herself into his chest. "Oh, Nikola, I thought it was her. I was so sure. I just wanted her to pay for what she did."

"I know," he said. "I know."

Watson breathed a sigh of relief. "And you would have realized the mistake sooner," he said, "had your reason not been clouded by emotion. It is a mistake even the best of us can make at times." Helena pulled herself away from Nikola and looked at him as he finished his statement.

"Yes, I suppose I deserved that," she said. Her eyes fell on the woman and she sucked in a deep breath. "I am so sorry." The woman began to rise to her feet with Pete's help. She had no emotion or energy left to either accept or reject the apology. Helena's face showed the horror she felt as she watched the woman stand. "My God," she said looking upward as she spoke. "I let myself nearly take the life of another human being? An innocent human being? What's happened to me?"

Pete looked at her with contempt. "Yeah, you might want to remember that the next time you're holding a gun to someone's head, lady."

Helena looked at Watson and said, "Now what do we do?"

"We go home and get cleaned up," said Nikola. "I've had enough of this place."

"I'm afraid it won't be as easy as that," said Watson as he watched Pete leading the victim toward the opened doorway. "It'll depend greatly on what our Agent Stevenson chooses to do."

"Oh, I'll tell you what I'm going to do," Pete said as he let the woman exit the room before turning around to address the group. "As soon as we get back to the station, I'm turning lady cuckoo there over to the—" Agent Stevenson never completed his sentence. He passed out and fell to the ground and when he came to again he found himself alone in the basement of the strangest building he had ever seen. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there, but he made his way out through a broken doorway followed by many other gaping holes in the ground-floor masonry until he found himself at an alley behind the old abandoned structure. He made it the distance of a few blocks when the sound of multiple explosions brought him running back. He stopped on the sidewalk and watched as the house he had just been in engulfed itself in flames.


	7. Homeward Bound

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Seven, Homeward Bound

  


(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"Are you seeing this?" Claudia asked Dr. Calder as she watched the streaks of artifact energy flash through the air.

"Yes, I am!" Helena said emphatically over Dr. Calder's reply. She ran into the area and over to the platform. She was breathing hard, as if she had just sprinted across a race track. She placed her hands against the platform and caught her breath as her eyes darted over all the equipment. Everything looked in order. She had run from the exact opposite end of the Warehouse where she had been looking at power conduits. At the first sign of the lightning she dropped everything she was doing and rushed to see if Pete and Myka were in danger from some new dysfunction with the machine. Her heart rate began a steadier rhythm as she took a seat next to Pete and began checking his connections. Whether it was concern or habit she did not know, but it made her feel better so she continued. "What is it?" she called out to Claudia over her shoulder. "What's causing all that energy discharge?" She tightened a connector on Pete's visor and moved to check Myka's.

Claudia nearly responded, but lost her train of thought as she saw Artie rushing a man and woman toward the Ovoid Quarantine. They were all being followed by a trail of artifacts bouncing behind them. Claudia had never seen anything like it. It was as if the artifacts were somehow being magically propelled by an invisible force. "I have no idea," Claudia said distractedly. "But _this_ I gotta see." She rose from her chair but stopped halfway out of it when her alarm clock sounded. She knew it meant Pete was due to arrive shortly so she sat back in her chair and started tapping at her keyboard. She glanced in Artie's last seen location hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was happening. She would need to remember to ask him about it once Pete was back. Instead, she pulled up schematics for the time-machine and double-checked the variables in the system. She re-checked the recall program to ensure there were no yellow alerts and quickly decided Pete's return would be a safe one.

A few minutes later Artie and a tall woman walked into the area. The other man was nowhere to be seen. The woman had long brown hair which she wore pulled mostly back from her face and she tied it with a ribbon into a plush ponytail. Her bangs curled softly around her heart-shaped face making it difficult for Claudia to pinpoint her age. She decided the woman was somewhere between Myka's and Dr. Calder's age but could not pinpoint it any closer such was the mixture of youthfulness and experience etched into the woman's face.

"Dear God," the tall woman said as she stopped in her tracks and stared toward the platform. "Wells, is that really you?"

Helena whirled around and her eyes went wide. "Magnus," she said in a near whisper. The two women stared at one another before they both broke into slow smiles. "It's _so_ good to see you," Helena said.

"Yes, it's wonderful to see you, too." Dr. Magnus stepped forward and the two women embraced as only the dearest of friends do after very long absences. "How many years has it been?"

"Too many," said Helena chuckling. She stepped back and looked at Dr. Magnus before shaking her head. "Honestly, I had no idea you were even still –"

Claudia cut off her words. "Wait. You two know each other?" She had never known Helena to socialize with anyone, so as far as her memory was concerned Helena could not have possibly ever met Dr. Magnus.

The two friends glanced at one another before simultaneously answering, "It's a long story." They both laughed at the inside joke leaving Claudia to narrow her eyes at yet another unshared story she was going to have to research on her own to uncover. She wondered sometimes if she was the only one in the Warehouse not prone to keeping secrets.

"Dr. Magnus, I can see I'm not the only one who's glad you're here," Dr. Calder said while stepping forward to greet her. "But, honestly, I was truly surprised when you called to say you were so close. I had no idea you were even thinking of flying in!" Dr. Magnus turned to her with a dimpled smile.

"Yes, there was nothing for it, I'm afraid. The uniqueness of the situation was certainly compelling enough, but once I informed Nikola what was happening, he absolutely insisted upon it." She looked at Helena. "I don't think I could have stopped him even if I'd wanted to!"

"Nikola?" asked Claudia.

"Yes," the English doctor smiled at her. "Nikola Tesla. He's an old friend of ours. In fact, he helped design the power grid for this very Warehouse many years ago." She looked around at the exposed infrastructure and shook her head appreciatively. "Even then he was a man ahead of his time. I doubt the world will ever catch up." Helena laughed and nodded her agreement.

"I'm honestly surprised he came with you considering how artifacts are with him around," said Helena. Dr. Magnus tilted her head briefly and arched an eyebrow.

"You know how he is," she said to Helena.

"Hold it. Just hold the freaking phone here for a minute. Did you say Nikola _Tesla_? As in _the_ Nikola Tesla? Electromagnetic genius Nikola Tesla?" Her mouth fell open with incredulity and she looked back and forth between Artie and Helena.

As if on cue, Nikola walked into the room. He wore a medallion around his neck and appeared to be wiping neutralizer from his hands. "You rang?" He asked and then answered his own rhetorical question. "I heard someone taking my name in vain."

"No freaking way!" said Claudia. Her mouth dropped open and she turned an awestruck gaze in his direction. He lifted his eyebrows at her and glanced at Dr. Magnus.

"Way," said Artie. "He's here to help with Myka's situation." As Claudia scrambled out of her chair he added, "And _don't_ get in his way." She shot Artie a look and grabbed Nikola's hand. She pumped his arm up and down hard enough to make him lose his balance.

"This is unbelievable! I mean, dude, you're like… like… _amazing_! You're my personal hero! Wait until I tell Joshua! He'll never believe it! Hell, I can't believe it!" She grinned and continued. "I can't believe I am _actually_ standing here talking to Nikola Tesla. Nikola. Tesla!"

Nikola looked around the room beaming a wide grin. "Everyone take note. _That's_ the appropriate greeting when I make an entrance." Dr. Magnus rolled her eyes at him, but the corners of her mouth turned up in amusement.

Nikola's eyes brightened when he saw Helena. "Irene!" He extricated himself from Claudia and walked over to Helena. "Apparently that whole bronzing business agrees with you." He gave her a wry smile.

"And you're still as caustic as always," she said laughing at his jest.

"Oh, don't say that, dear. Like a fine wine, I only get better with age." He broke into a toothy grin and then instantly fell serious. "Speaking of which, where's the wine cellar?"

"Uhm. We don't have a wine cellar," Claudia answered. "But, we do have the Dionysus Kylix."

"Claudia!" Artie barked her name. "What are you doing? You know it's inappropriate to suggest the use of an artifact!"

"What?" she said defensively. "Don't get all zero to sixy with the rabid-man thing, okay? The Kylix? Yeah." She pointed to Nikola. "It's stuck to his leg." All eyes turned to look at Nikola's leg. Inexplicably hovering an inch from his left calf was a small two-handled ornately decorated black vessel. The surface was smooth and had a painting of what looked like a feast or gathering. The entire object was no bigger than a standard-sized sugar bowl.

Nikola looked down and sighed with resignation. "I missed one. God I hate this place." He reached down and pulled it from behind his leg. "All these damn artifacts just follow me around like lost puppies." He patted the medallion on his chest. "Good thing you still had this," he said to Artie. "But, next time, could you have it at the door so I don't have to risk my life running down the aisles?

"Anyway," he continued. "What's this thing again? The what Kylix?"

"The Dinoysus Kylix," Claudia corrected him. "I don't know much about it, but I do know it fills the cup with wine as long as you're holding it."

Nikola looked into the cup and watched as it slowly filled to within a few millimeters of the brim. "Okay, I officially like her," he said to the group before turning to address Claudia. "You, my eager and most useful dear, can be my assistant."

"YES!" she bellowed with excitement. "I am going to be working with Nikola Tesla! Awesome!" She beamed a smile before the implausibility of the entire scenario dawned on her. "Wait," her brow furrowed. "Exactly _how_ is it that I'm even standing next to you, dude? Aren't you from H.G.'s time? You're, like, a bazillion years old by now – shouldn't you be dead?" Dr. Magnus, Helena, and Nikola exchanged looks.

"It's a long story," they all said in unison.

Claudia prepared to yell something about secrets and broken records, but before she could finish her thought her alarm beeped again signifying Pete's imminent return. "Hold that thought," she said to the group and ran to her laptop as the platform began to initialize.

"Is that it, then?" Asked Dr. Magnus. "That's the time-machine? It truly works?"

"Indeed, yes." Helena gave a gratified smile. "I finished it in 1902."

Dr. Magnus smiled at her and shook her head. "Truly extraordinary, Wells. But, then, you always did amaze me." She looked at Nikola and Helena. "Honestly, I think the two of you could have put us on the moon in 1890 if you'd set your minds to it." The platform began to turn slowly.

"Yes, the Tesla-Wells Space Center, it has a nice ring to it," said Nikola.

"Wells-Tesla," said Helena and they both laughed.

"Any minute now," said Claudia. Her voice was filled with expectation. "All systems are looking good. We are green across the board. Houston, we are a go." She looked up. "Er. No pun intended." Nikola winked at her and looked back toward Pete.

The platform continued gaining momentum. They all watched as it peaked in rotations and everyone held their breath when they heard the motor disengage. As it wound down Pete's eyes flew open and he shouted, "– police! And _then_ I'm going to make sure you never…"

Pete's voice faded as he slowly realized he was back in the Warehouse. He blinked twice with the understanding he was no longer standing in the basement of the Holmes Castle and he sighed with relief.

"Welcome back," said Helena. "How are you feeling?" Dr. Calder echoed her statement and began walking toward the platform.

Pete turned his head at the sound of Helena's voice and ripped the visor from his head. He jumped up and let his eyes quickly scan the group before his gaze settled on Helena's face. He scowled and pointed in her direction. "You!"

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 1893)

 

Myka stood looking up at the Ferris wheel. She smiled to herself and took in a deep breath wanting to remember everything about it so she could hold onto the way she felt standing with Helena the previous night. Any moment now she would find herself transported back through time, and she would be home again. Her little adventure to 1893 would become a literal thing of the past. She spent less than a day in this magical time, but she felt the experience would be with her forever. All the unique sights and sounds of a time she had only read about in her favorite books were now etched in her memory. She was excited at the prospect of how it would play in her mind the next time she picked up a period-book and found herself able to identify with every Victorian nuance. She knew she would have a whole new appreciation for every detail she read and it filled her with a kind of giddiness she could never have explained.

"Emma, darling, I'd like you to meet one of my dearest friends!" Helena's voice called out to her over the sound of a clock striking the hour. Myka turned towards her and saw her approaching with a man and another woman. Helena smiled and turned towards the woman. "Dr. Helen Magnus, I'd like you to meet a visiting friend – Miss Emeline Cigrand." Helena gave the tall woman at her side at her side a conspiratorial look. "She's one of us." What that meant, Myka had no idea, but she reached out her hand to greet Helena's friend anyway.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Cigrand," said Dr. Magnus shaking her hand firmly. Myka noted the English accent was markedly different from Helena's and wondered if it had to do with regional differences as was often the case with many American accents. "I do hope you're enjoying your time in the city?"

"Yes, very much. Thank you," Myka said with a smile. She really had been having a marvelous time, and a part of her was sad to be leaving it so soon. Helena's tone shifted and seemed somewhat strained when she introduced her to the man.

"And this," she said turning toward the man, "is our mutual acquaintance, Mr. James Watson." The man huffed at her before turning a scrutinizing eye on Myka.

He paused a few moments, his eyes flitting over her appearance, before speaking. "Good evening Miss Cigrand." He gave a quick partial-bow. "When do you return to the Keely Institute?"

Myka's face showed complete confusion. She had no idea what he meant, and then remembered Helena had said Emeline worked at a medical institution. Was it possible this man knew her? The idea worried her, and she silently hoped the return trip would happen before she tripped up in front of someone who might know her well. "I'm sorry," she said carefully. "Have we met? I can't quite place you."

He smiled condescendingly and said, "Not at all, Miss Cigrand." He pointed briefly toward her and said, "I simply noticed the strain around your eyes and your swollen wrist, as well as the slight stiffness in only your lower back. Your ring tells me you have a link to the scientific world, but not the religious one, and the fact that you are visitor to the city also indicates –"

"Oh for God's sake," said Helena impatiently. Either she did not agree with his assessment or she disapproved of it. Whichever it was did not matter as whatever she was about to say next was eclipsed by a sudden outburst to their left.

"Good God, is Sherlock at it again?" Another man, younger than either Dr. Magnus or Mr. Watson, walked into the group and exchanged greetings. "Hello, James, boring the ladies again are we?" He turned to Myka. "Pay him no mind, my dear. He does have a tendency to prattle on when he's around beautiful women." He leaned in closely and whispered loudly, "He still hasn't had a first date, yet." Helena stifled a laugh. He smiled and turned to her. "And who have we here?"

"Nikola, may I introduce my dear friend Helena Wells. Oh, and her visitor, Miss Emeline Cigrand." Nikola nodded pleasantly to Myka and then looked between Helena and Watson. "Helena Wells? As in _the_ Helena Wells? The one you told me about, James?"

Watson stiffened and took in a deep breath. "Yes, Nikola. It is she." The younger man burst out laughing and brought his hands together with a single clap.

"Well, now _this_ calls for a celebration," he gushed. "To think I have both Sherlock Holmes _and_ Irene Adler in the same conversation! I never thought I'd live to see the day." His gleeful declaration clearly irritated Watson, who excused himself and walked away. Nikola, Dr. Magnus, and Helena all laughed and talked amongst themselves.

Myka looked at the group and felt herself wonder, again, at how markedly different the Helena of this time period was. She had never seen her in the company of another friend, and to see her so at ease and jovial made her heart glad. She loved knowing Helena had not always known the pain and misery of loss, and she pushed away the knowledge of what was to come. Right here, right now, all she cared about was Helena's happiness. She wished time would stop and allow Helena all the happiness the world could offer her. Myka sighed heavily and smiled. She could no longer deny her emotions. She resolved to sit down with Helena when she returned in order to confess her feelings. As she began trying to imagine how the conversation might unfold, she slowly became aware the clock had struck the hour some time ago. She replayed the last few minutes in her mind and recounted the bells. When she counted to seven she looked around and started to panic.

"What time is it?" she asked a passing stranger.

"It's ten past seven, Miss" he said and tipped his hat. Myka leaned against a makeshift wall and felt her heart sink into her stomach. Ten past seven meant it was already past the time she should have returned. _Oh my God,_ she thought. _What does this mean? It's been twenty-two hours and twenty-nine minutes. I'm ten minutes overdue. What does this mean? Why am I still here?_ Her thoughts raced and her face went completely white with the realization. Not only had the time-machine malfunctioned in sending her to the wrong time. It had malfunctioned and not returned her. This could only mean one thing – she was stuck in 1893 with no certain way home.


	8. Curiosities

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Eight, Curiosities

  


 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"I think, perhaps, this is not the best time for a confrontation?" Dr. Magnus said to Pete as he advanced on Helena's position. She did not know what animosity existed between the two, but his tone and expression were unmistakable. He had every intention of some sort of confrontation. She caught Pete's eye and waved her hand toward Myka. "We do still have the matter of Agent Bering to resolve."

Pete turned his head to follow her hand. "What? What matter? What needs to be resolved?" He saw Myka lying prone, her eyes still closed and her visor visibly connected to the time-machine. "Why is she still like that? Shouldn't she be back?" He looked up at Claudia and Artie with questioning eyes.

"Yeah, about that. Pete?" Artie stepped forward and motioned for Pete to follow him. This explanation was probably best done away from the others, and judging by the level of Pete's agitation it would not hurt to separate him from Helena. For whatever reason his dislike of her had been rekindled, and he wanted to learn the circumstances without causing any delay for her care. "It's okay. Myka's fine. Nothing to worry about. Dr. Calder and Dr. Magnus are taking care of everything. But, uh, let's you and I debrief while we grab a bit to eat."

Pete looked between the doctors and back at Myka. It was not that he distrusted Artie, he just wanted reassurance wherever he could find it. He did not know what was going on, but he knew he did not like seeing Myka still unconscious. He paused waiting to see if he felt any sort of vibe. Nothing. Artie pressed on his shoulder and he let himself be led from the platform. As he passed Helena he confronted her directly. "But you," he said narrowing his eyes, "You're a raving lunatic, lady. I don't want you anywhere near my partner, understand?"

Helena started to object, but was stayed by Dr. Magnus' hand on her arm. She let Pete and Artie pass without further incident. Moments later they disappeared around a corner. "Who was that?" asked Nikola staring after Pete and Artie as they left. "He didn't seem too pleased with you, my dear."

"Seems to be the way of things between us." She sighed heavily and chewed her bottom lip. "And I thought we'd finally started making progress." Until Pete stepped off the platform it had never even occurred to her the reaction he might have from the events of his journey. From the moment Artie brought up the case her mind had been preoccupied with memories of Emma. Pete's journey, and all he would experience, completely slipped her mind. Remembering what his experiences were she knew he could only now see her as the same woman who had betrayed confidences and brought near-destruction to the world. It would take her some time to undo the damage his new knowledge of her past had wrought. She did not like having to admit the damage might be permanent. Putting Pete and Myka at odds, once more, over her – it was a position that did not bode well for their future interactions as friends and partners. She sighed again and looked at Dr. Magnus. "I'll figure out a way to deal with that later. Right now, I suppose we should get to work."

"Yes," said Dr. Magnus. "We should get on with it sooner rather than later." She looked around. "Have we a laboratory? I just want to check on the current status of the specimens. I'll also need to prepare the hypodermics and then we should be ready for the first injection."

"Uh. Injection?" asked Claudia. She looked up from her laptop. "What injection?" She did not like the idea of Myka having to undergo any procedure while still attached to the machine.

"Not to worry," Dr. Magnus said with a smile. "It's completely safe. It's an extract made from the saliva of a South American primate akin to the common Marmoset. Sadly, the creature went extinct a little over a hundred years ago."

"Saliva? Seriously?" Claudia scrunched her face at the thought. "I'm not going to be the one who tells Myka she got injected with monkey spit. Gross."

"Yes, well, as unappealing as the thought may be, the indigenous tribes used the compound for medicinal purposes for centuries." Claudia recognized the look on Dr. Magnus' face as she continued to explain. It reminded her of how Helena appeared when she reveled in descriptions of her inventions, or even how she herself felt whenever she accomplished an amazing new feat of engineering and wanted to expose its secrets to her team. Dr. Magnus' expression relayed all the awe and appreciation for the wonder of nature as she expounded on the properties of the magical blend she had brought to assist Myka. "It places the recipient in what we would recognize as an advanced level of chemical stasis. Both in humans, and in these primates, the active chemical in the saliva placed the recipient into a state of near suspended animation. While the Callithrix Minor used it for mating purposes – the females bit the males, you see, and the males would then fall into a trance-like state for a week, ensuring the female's ability to find a willing mate of her choice. It's really quite extraordinary. There are few species in the animal kingdom where the female exerts such control – which is why the South American tribes used it more for the medicinal aspect in regards to their indigenous fertility practices. They found it created a heightened sexual prowess in the fem–"

"Whoa!" Claudia held up her hand. "Just slow your roll, Doc. You can stop right there. If there's anything I _don't_ need, it's sex-education Warehouse-style." Dr. Magnus' expression changed to confusion. She found the details rather fascinating and did not understand why anyone else might not. But she let the sentence drop and did not try to finish it.

"Fair enough," she said. "I guess that was a bit more information than you probably needed. Still, the effects will be short term and I need to run through the measurements again to ensure we have the precise dosage. I believe we have enough but there's no harm in checking, is there?" She flashed a wide grin. "Which way is the laboratory, then?"

"A laboratory? Here? No," Claudia said. "Have you actually ever looked around this place? We barely even have running water." For as much as she loved the Warehouse, and all the challenges it presented to her tinkering mind, there were times she would have given anything for the entire thing to be less like America's attic and more like America's IKEA. Anything more modern would have been preferable to the somewhat archaic technology with which she contended so often.

"Actually," said Dr. Calder. "We do have an area I use for treating patients on-site. It's not much, it's really just a small facility, but it has some basic medical equipment if you need it – including a microscope. And we can go through the protocols together and make sure we haven't left anything out."

"Excellent! Lead the way." Dr. Magnus looked at Nikola and Helena, "I shan't be long." They nodded their understanding and she gave them a parting smile before following Dr. Calder to the medical bay.

"And you, Nikola? Are you able to get your work done?" Helena asked him warily. She suddenly felt tired and wanted to take the pills Dr. Calder gave her earlier in the day before drawing the bedcovers over her head and disappearing for the night. They had a lot of work to do before she could allow herself the luxury of indulging the impulse.

"I'm sure I can manage," he said to her. "Besides, if I need anything I'm pretty sure Little Orphan Annie over here can assist me."

"Hey, watch it Magneto," Claudia retorted. She liked the man, but she had no intention of letting him run roughshod over her. If he was going to start throwing around nicknames, she was definitely going to throw some back. Nikola hid a smile as continued talking with Helena.

"And you? How are you holding up?" He closed an eye in mock-examination of her. Helena gave him a weak smile and shook her head before running both her hands through her hair and sighing.

"I honestly don't know, Nikola. It's all just been…" she searched for a word.

"Insane?" Nikola offered. She nodded and they gave each other wry smiles.

"Thank you for coming, Nikola." She touched him on the arm. "Really. I'd forgotten what it was like to be around people who knew me before all the… difficulties. It's good to have you here."

"Nonsense," he waved her off. "I only came for the challenge of the power source." Helena gave him a thankful smile. She knew he had come for more reasons than he was letting on, and she could not have been more appreciative. They both had their niches and his was in anything having to do with electromagnetism; if anyone could create what they needed, it would be Nikola.

"Have you an idea, then, for how we proceed?" Helena asked him. Claudia looked up from her keyboard. She had no intention of missing out on anything the great inventors might be getting ready to concoct.

"Yes, actually. And, luckily, we don't even have to start from scratch!" He pulled a spherical object from his coat pocket and laid it on the table. Claudia rose from her chair and joined them as they looked at it. She could see countless gears and levers so small they could have been looking at the inside of the world's most complicated watch. "I toyed with an idea for personal shield generator a few years ago. While I ended up abandoning that project for something else, the power source I created for it will do nicely. We only need to modify it to work with your machine, and then charge it."

"How did you get all of that in there?" Claudia asked with genuine curiosity. The level of meticulous detail was astonishing, and she could not help but wonder what each component did in order to make the entire thing behave as a self-charging battery. She already knew if the device could, in fact, sustain itself the implications were absolutely astounding. The man was a certifiable genius, she decided. She wanted to learn everything she could from him in the short time he would be there.

"Very carefully," he said. "There are over fifteen individual modules, with each of those containing five specific components. It had to be small enough to be portable, but large enough to produce enough wattage. It took me a few tries, but this was the final result. I built three, but this is the only one left." He looked proudly at his invention and turned to Helena. "I think you should know, however, that the longest I was able to get these to hold a single charge was just at a week; you'll need to keep an eye on it and recharge it as you go." He pointed to a vertical band of LED light bulbs visible to the side of one of the panels. "It'll light up here when there's less than a few hours charge left, but if you let the indicator get below twenty percent you won't be able to charge it again so don't ignore it."

"I guess we should get to work creating the interface." Helena nodded and looked at Claudia with a smile. "We'll need use of your skills for certain."

"Music to my ears," Claudia responded as she rubbed her hands together. "Let's get our awesome on!"

 

* * *

 

(Dwight, IL - 05 May 1893)

 

Myka felt awkward. It had been four days since she should have returned home. From morning through evening on each of those days she let her mind work through the possibilities and scenarios that might have resulted in leaving her stranded. No matter which way she turned it the truth of her situation kept staring her in the face. She had no way to go home. Since she was still alive she assumed the Warehouse was still standing and that her colleagues were aware she had failed to return. Some part of her held a sliver of doubt with that assumption, however. For all she knew there was someone walking around in her body without anyone being the wiser; stranger things had happened. She picked up the newspaper as she finished her breakfast and walked to the library where she sat behind the desk and perused the front page. Like it had been since she returned home, the main story highlighted recently unveiled inventions from the Columbian Exposition. She smiled to herself at the reporter's delight in discovering Cracker Jacks, of all things. How many boxes of the tasty treat had she eaten in her lifetime? At least once a week, unless you counted the movie theatre – that was when she always loaded up on her favorite treats. A box of Cracker Jacks, Twizzlers, and a diet soda – the last item being the sole object in the ensemble allowing her to rationalize away the sugar intake.

She thumbed through the pages and glanced through the small news blurbs as she made her way to the back of the paper. Severe flooding in China had killed over four hundred villagers, a child had gone missing in Chicago and was presumed lost at the Expo, banks were calling for calm amidst rumors of impending economic disaster, and someone touted "Grey Mineral Water" as a cure for cholera making its way through the city. "What a joke," she mumbled under breath. To her the entire history of "snake oil" salesman had always been a gimmick in old Westerns, but they seemed to truly have existed and their claims appeared to be taken quite seriously. Her reading was interrupted by one of Andrew's staff.

"Mr. Robert Phelps is here to see you, Miss," the young domestic curtsied as she relayed the announcement. Myka wished the woman would stop doing that. It seemed every time she had an interaction with the girl she was being curtsied to or catered to as if she were royalty.

"Mr. Phelps," said Myka. The name sounded familiar but she could not place where she had heard it. "Where is he?"

"He's waiting for you in the garden, Miss." She curtsied again. Myka sighed and pushed back from the table, dropping the paper on the desk as she did so. She walked through the dining room of her cousin's home and out to his immaculately kept gardens. Waiting near a bench was a tall well-manicured man pacing and twirling a hat in his hands. He had the look of a man waiting for his wife to give birth. As she opened the gate to enter the pathway he turned to her and ran the palm of his right hand over his slicked back dark-blonde hair.

"Emeline," he said. "I'm sorry for coming so soon, I know you wanted some time to think it over, but I just…" He looked down at his hands and collected himself. "I just needed to know, one way or the other, what's your answer?" The pleading look in his brilliant grey eyes raised a quiet alarm in Myka's mind. Whatever he was talking about, it was clearly an important issue to which she was not privy.

"My answer…" she said haltingly. This was a question for Emma and that woman was no longer here. "I, uhm, I don't have an answer." She looked at the man and the disappointment in his face made her add, "Yet."

"What more can I say?" Exasperation filled his voice. "You know how I feel about you. And I, I thought you loved me, too." He reached into his pocket and held out a ring. "If I need to ask you to marry me every day of my life, that's what I'll do." He let his hat fall to the ground as dropped to one knee and continued. "We were meant to be together. I've known that since we were sixteen. Please, Emeline, say yes."

Myka did her best to hide her surprise. _That's who he is,_ she thought. _Helena did mention Emma had a fiancé named Robert._ She looked down at the man and at the ring in his outstretched hand. It was a delicate gold band with a perfect pearl set in the middle accompanied by two solitaire diamonds as big as it was. It was beautiful, but she knew she could not accept it. She looked into Robert's hopeful face. _I'm going to hate myself for this, I just know it._ Breaking someone's heart was not something she ever liked doing, and was a large reason she tended to avoid the complications of relationships. Somehow someone always ended up in tears. "Robert," she began in a serious tone and she saw his face fall. _Just hurry up and tell him,_ she said to herself. "I think… I think you're a lovely man," _You seem like a lovely man._ "And I'm sure you will make a fine husband some day." _Just not for me._ "But, this is not a time in my life suited for marriage." _What an understatement._ Robert dropped his eyes and looked to the ground before raising himself.

"Robert," she said as she watched him pick up his hat. "Listen, I know we haven't talked about this enough, but... I just," she tried to be gentle. "I just need you to understand. I don't want to hurt you." He did not bother to look at her as she spoke. "If you really need an answer right _now_ , well…" She faltered. She desperately tried to think of a way to reject him without causing him pain.

"What is it, Emeline? Don't you love me anymore?" He looked her directly in the eye. "Did something happen? Is there someone else?"

Myka was saved from answering when Andrew's servant called out to her. "A Miss Helena Wells to see you, Miss. She's waiting for you in the library." _Great_ , Myka thought. _As if things couldn't get any more complicated._

"Robert," she said turning to him. "I know we need to talk more, and we will. Just…" she looked back toward the house. "Give me some time?" He looked sadly at her and nodded.

"Yes, of course. Time." Something in him sparked and his eyes brightened. "You did say you wanted time to think, and I rushed you. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. Take the time you need. I have to go to New York for a conference, but I'll be back in a few weeks. We can talk then?"

"Yes, fine. We can talk then." She knew the conversation would be no easier in a few weeks, but she was thankful for the small reprieve. He smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head so that he kissed her cheek instead. He placed his hat on his head and walked with her to the house where he left her at the door. "Have a good trip, Robert." He nodded and touched the tip of his hat with his hand before giving her one last look as he turned to leave.

Myka watched him round the corner and turned toward the house. She took in a deep breath and reached for the door, knowing Helena was waiting for her in the library did nothing to settle her anxiety over the situation with Robert. In the days since she last spoke with Helena, she had consistently been brought back to her own feelings. Knowing how she truly felt for the woman, she had thought she would return home and finally address them with her face to face. This was not her time, and the relationship Helena was supposed to have with Emma was not meant for her. She still believed her colleagues would bring her home, and when that happened the relationship between Helena and Emma would progress as it should. Yet, here she was. Trapped in the poor woman's body, and in love with the most amazing person she had ever known, Myka knew she was unable to do anything about either circumstance. She paused with her hand on the library's doorknob and sighed again before turning it and letting the door swing open _._

Helena stood at the back of the room inspecting the various tomes on the shelf. She held her hands clasped behind her as she scrutinized the names of the authors and their works. When she found her own biology text she smiled. Of all the works credited to her name it was the only one she had actually written. The others were written by her brother, Charles, although his inspiration was always taken from her own research into the various matters always tugging at her mind. She raised herself on the tips of her toes and reached for a book when she heard the door open behind her. Turning, she saw Emeline enter the room, and she settled back on her heels. "Good morning, Emma, I hope I'm not too early for you?" She smiled broadly and walked toward the door taking Myka in her arms for a brief hug. It seemed to Myka she would never get used to this affectionate side to Helena, but she let herself return the embrace before withdrawing.

"No, it's fine. I was already up," Myka said. "I'm so glad to see you, what brings you to town?"

Helena casually leaned against the desk and said, "Actually, I came to see if you wanted to come for dinner tomorrow evening."

"Dinner." Myka said flatly. "You came all the way out here, to ask if I wanted to come to dinner." The statement hung in the air, and Helena blushed. She had ridden two hours to see Emma, and it only just occurred to her how odd it must have looked. She could have simply sent an invitation through the local telegraph office.

"Oh," Helena tried to make up an excuse to explain why she had come in person. "And also, there was…" her eyes darted around the room and caught on the newspaper laying open on the desk. "That makes two," she said almost to herself.

"Sorry?" Myka asked. She wondered what had captured her attention.

"That's odd," Helena picked up the paper and began reading the page Myka had left open previously.

"Oh, yeah, I know what you mean. Mineral water can't cure cholera or any other disease for that matter," she scoffed.

Helena looked up in confusion. "What?"

"The mineral water? Isn't that what you just said was so odd?" Myka's curiosity piqued further.

"Mineral water?" She glanced at the paper. "Oh, heavens no. Don't be ridiculous, that can't cure anything." She went back to reading.

Myka made a face and stalked over to Helena's side. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

"This is the second child to go missing near the Exposition," Helena finally said. "A little girl went missing just two nights ago. It looks as if both had just visited a local candy store near the entrance to the grounds."

"Two children from the same location in as many days? That can't be a coincidence." The investigator in Myka knew better than to miss a potential pattern. She read over Helena's shoulder and caught the address of the candy store. "I bet we'll find answers at that store."

"Answers?" Helena looked up.

"Yeah, I'm not just going to sit here while someone's kidnapping children." Although she had not expected to do any sort of field work, the adrenaline pumping through her veins lifted her spirits and she knew she needed to visit the store even if it turned out everything was fine. She stopped at the door to the library and looked behind her as Helena began to lower the paper to the desk. "You coming?"


	9. Inklings

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

 **A/N:** Please note the rating of this story - some chapters may contain mature content.

Chapter Nine, Inklings

 

(Chicago, 05 May 1893)

 

Myka pulled the lapels of her coat up around her face to stave off the biting wind. A cold front had moved in and while Helena was dressed in thicker clothing her own were less suitable for the freezing air whipping around them. Helena and she stood across the road in front of a large three-story brick building with false battlements and bay windows. A sign near the front entrance read "Vacancies: Night or Week rates available. Inquire Within." The hotel must have been on the higher floors, Myka decided. The shops on the first floor teemed with people looking for a respite from the weather, and Myka noticed the busy street led straight to the main entrance of the fairgrounds. This was the same place the missing children had been just before they were reported as missing. Helena moved to cross the street, but Myka pulled her back. "Not yet," she said watching the storefronts. "I want to watch the stores for a few minutes. The article said the little boy went missing around five o'clock last night – and didn't you say the little girl went missing around the same time?"

Helena nodded. "Yes, the mother reported they stopped at a few shops – one of them being this candy store," Helena tilted her head in the direction of the building. "Ten minutes later they were through the entrance to the Exposition and she noticed her daughter was missing. That was the last time she saw her."

"I wonder what time it is," Myka said and she looked up trying to find the sun hoping she could determine an approximation. No luck. The clouds were getting darker.

"It's just before five now," Helena said. Myka looked back down and saw her holding a pocket watch. She smiled. Of course the Victorian beauty would have such an obvious sign of the times; she even kept it tethered to her vest with a traditional gold link chain.

"Good. Let's just wait here a few minutes," Myka said. If there was someone targeting children from the same location at the same time, chances were good they might notice someone behaving strangely – or, at the very least, they might notice any wayward children and intervene before something terrible happened.

Helena looked at Myka and watched her eye the storefront. Something about the focused look and the intent gaze, as she swept the crowds looking for whatever telltale sign she was hoping to find, tugged at Helena's thoughts. A sudden gust blew from the right and Myka turned her face into it hoping to keep her thrashing hair from obscuring her vision. As she turned, the current swept it all behind her letting only a few minor wisps to flutter against the side of her face until the winds calmed. She brushed them back behind her ear, but one escaped her grasp and was left to linger softly where it lay. Helena could not take her eyes from the other woman so uncommon was her beauty in the moment.

"Oh, pardon me, Miss," came the voice of a man from behind them. They both turned to see a tall handsome gentleman, less than five feet behind them. He wore a doctor's coat and spoke to a young woman easily half his age. He had apparently bumped into her and caused her to drop one of the many packages she held in her arms. It landed near Myka's feet. She stooped to retrieve it and noticed it held the name of the pharmacy behind them; its logo matched the marking on the man's coat.

"Miss Cigrand! How wonderful to see you. Have you come to begin work earlier than we discussed? I wasn't expecting you until the twenty-fifth." He held out his hand to take the package Myka held and quickly transferred it to the younger woman. "Here you go, Miss, I hope you get to feeling better." She thanked him and sneezed twice as she walked away. Myka wiped her face not knowing if the mist she felt was from the woman or the light drizzle just beginning to fall.

"Oh, are you to be working here, Emma?" Helena looked inquisitively at her. Myka looked between her and the pharmacist not knowing what to say.

"Indeed she is!" The doctor smiled proudly. He certainly looked the pleasant and unassuming sort, and Myka would have disregarded him if he had not spoken to them first. "Not more than two weeks ago she finally accepted the position. I can't begin to tell you how useful it will be to finally have someone to transcribe all my copious notes. I just don't have the time anymore between my practice and my other ventures." He smiled brightly at Helena and then looked at Myka as he spoke. "My, but don't you two make the most beautiful sight?" He turned to Helena. "If you're looking for work, too, Miss, I'm sure I can think of something for you."

"Ah. No, I'm not looking for work," her English accent intrigued him.

"Are you sure? Maybe you'd be interested in running a store, or perhaps assisting with hotel management?" He stepped closer to Helena giving her a once-over with his eyes. "Yes. I think you'd do nicely."

"Quite sure," were Helena's only words. Something in the way she quietly stared back at him put the man off and he turned again toward Myka. He paused and stared at her long enough to make both women uncomfortable before excusing himself to finish locking up the Pharmacy. When he turned to cross the street Myka noticed the embroidery above the left breast pocket of his coat. Her blood ran cold with recognition. It read "Dr. H. Holmes."

"Well he's a strange fellow," Helena remarked under her breath as she watched him cross the street.

"Strange isn't the half of it," Myka said. She watched as the man disappeared into the hotel entrance. "I wonder why a pharmacist would be staying at a hotel," she pondered aloud.

"He's not a pharmacist," Helena corrected her. "He's a physician."

Myka turned her head to look at her. "How can you tell?" She looked back at the building behind her and regarded the pharmacy sign over the door Dr. Holmes had just left.

"He may run a pharmacy, but he's definitely a physician – most probably a surgeon. The cut of his coat is wrong for a pharmacist, but more importantly were his hands. They were stained with iodine; no pharmacist requires constant levels of contact with iodine." She relayed the information as if it were plain as day for anyone to have noticed. Myka had seen the man's hands; she noticed no stains, but she knew Helena well-enough not to doubt her keen sense of observation. "Emma," she said. "Let's get into the store, it's starting to rain and people are clearing from the streets. If there's anything to learn it won't happen from over here." Myka agreed and the two women crossed the empty street to the other side of the road.

They walked into the candy store and Myka immediately inhaled the fragrant smell of confectionaries of every kind. There were endless jars and boxes filled with multitudes of hard candies and taffies, as well as a glass counter displaying fresh made fudges, brownies, and toffees of various sorts. Children and their parents crowded the counter vying for the shopkeeper's attention. They watched the interactions of the patrons and the store's help, but noticed nothing alarming or anything that might raise suspicions. Helena asked her what they were looking for, and Myka let her know she was not yet sure. As they walked around the small store Myka explained how most children were taken by someone they knew, not by strangers, which was a common misconception. She relayed fact after fact about the importance of locating a child within the first twenty-four hours, and how it was almost certain whoever took both children must have had some sort of contact either in or near the store itself.

Helena listened intently and wondered at the way Emma's mind worked. It seemed a waste to think she spent her life in an office rather than exercising her criminal deductions for the greater good. Watching Emma work she was reminded of such encouragements from her own friends. She finally understood what they meant. After a half-hour of browsing and talking with fewer and fewer patrons remaining Myka noticed a door in the back open. Dr. Holmes, absent the medical coat stepped through it. She nudged Helena and they both watched as he walked over to the man behind the counter. They exchanged quick words and he left by the same door.

"He must own the entire building," Myka postulated.

"So it would appear," Helena replied. They continued watching for another twenty minutes, but nothing else of importance caught their attention. Helena suggested they return to her home to wait out the weather. Myka agreed, but suggested they return in the morning to look around and walk the path from the homes of the missing children's families to see if there were any commonalities. They made their way to the front of the store where she stopped. She spied a row of five-pound tins labeled "Young & Smilie" containing something she had not expected to see, but realized immediately she could not do without. Red licorice. While not her favorite brand, it still smelled delicious and she picked up an entire tin rather than meter it out the way it was intended.

"Are you intending to purchase that?" Helena asked eying the container she held.

"Yes," Myka answered.

"The whole thing?" Helena asked incredulously.

Myka looked down at the tin in her hands and cradled it as she looked up to see Helena's alarmed expression. "It's my favorite," she said weakly. Helena shook her head and laughed as she walked with Myka to the counter. She insisted on paying for the purchase and teased Myka about it as they left the store.

"I hope that will last you more than one night," Helena said. The smile she wore danced in her eyes. "If not we may have to return with a wagon to keep you supplied for the summer!"

Myka grinned sheepishly. "Thank you, Helena. You didn't have to buy it. That was sweet of you."

"Not to worry," Helena said. "I intend to let you make it up to me by having you stay for dinner."

Myka indicated her agreement with a slight nod and pointed to a carriage. "There's one, we can grab that and save ourselves the walk home in this rain." She walked toward the carriage with Helena at her side. Helena addressed the driver to let him know where they needed to go, but he shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Miss," the driver said. "I'm about to head home for the evening." He tipped his hat at both of them but looked at Myka for a moment before speaking again. "Ah, a daughter of the East! Why didn't you say so?" Helena and Myka looked at each other and then Helena pointed at the ring on Myka's right hand.

"Your ring," she said. "It's a signet. Order of the Eastern Star, I believe?" She looked at the driver for confirmation. When he nodded Myka looked down at her hand and noticed the glinting star upon the ruby stone. She had nearly forgotten she was wearing it. It reminded her of the ring she had seen Helena fondle during times when she was lost deep in thought, but she noted the woman of this time did not seem to wear it. "Well, climb in," said Helena helping her step up into the carriage. "Good thing you've that ring," she nodded at Myka's hand. "I imagine life would be a lot easier if I had one of those," she said. "But, I just can't bring myself to join them." She wiped at the rainwater on her face as she spoke. "I mean no offense, Emma, but how do you deal with the biblical component?"

Myka had no idea what the Order of the Eastern Star was, nor why Helena seemed to dislike it. She offered the only thought that came to mind. "I don't."

Helena looked at her and laughed. "You truly are a woman after my own heart, aren't you?" She gently pursed her lips but the corners of her mouth betrayed her mirth. Myka smiled and tried to keep herself from blushing. Every time she saw that mischievous grin on Helena's face she could not help but think of the first time she ever beheld it. They had stood inches from one another that day. Myka had found her in the office of the University of South Dakota's wrestling coach, and Helena had simply oozed with charm and sensuality as she practically dared Myka to put the Tesla gun to use. Myka closed her eyes as they rode in silence. For a long while she let herself recall the events of that day, smiling softly when the memory of being whisked into the air crossed her thoughts. The exhilaration mixed with fear she had felt in that moment were so entwined with everything she had come to feel about Helena she could never truly know where one emotion started and the other stopped. She leaned her head to the side and opened her eyes. Helena sat next to her staring out of the window, and Myka was free to examine her profile.

She wondered what Helena was thinking. She had the look of someone making a decision, calculating odds, or debating something internally. Myka did not get to wonder for long, however. The carriage came to a slow stop and Helena refocused on the present. "Ah, home again!" She flashed Myka a smile before departing the carriage. She took the tin from Myka's hands and helped her down before paying the driver. The rainclouds had opened and a torrential downpour was underway as they ran for the house's front steps. They quickly clamored to the porch and ran through the door while shaking themselves free of as much water as they could. Myka narrowly missed stepping on a small beige cat as she crossed the threshold and it tried to dart past her. The small bell around its collar alerted her at the last minute and she was able to head it off from the doorway with her foot.

"Grab her! Grab that cat!" Myka pinned the cat to the side of the door with her leg being careful not to hurt it. Helena's brother Charles came running up to the door. "I swear this cat would steal a death-warrant if someone left it sitting out," he said with frustration. He reached down and extracted a small folded envelope from the cat's mouth and gave the cat a pat on the head as he spoke to her. "Leave my papers alone, you hear me?"

Helena rolled her eyes. "It's not like she can understand you, Charles. You say that to her every time, do you not? If you don't want your infernal creature making off with your papers, do what I do – learn to keep your door locked. I think you'll find it has a much higher degree of success than trying to reason with a cat." She turned to Myka and shook her head as Charles stood.

"Well, it's good you're back. I need someone to watch Mrs. Godswine while we go to tonight's lecture," he said.

"Your cat does not need looking after, Charles. She's a _cat_. I don't even know why you're keeping her." Helena's disdain for his pet was clearly evident.

"She helps me write," he said drawing a strangled sigh from his sister. "Just make sure she doesn't go outside. She hates the rain. And good lord, speaking of the rain, you two are positively soaked! Where have you been? You should change clothes before you catch cold." He turned and grabbed his coat and umbrella before stepping outside. Myka gave the cat her freedom back. She ran off with her tail held high and disappeared somewhere into the house.

"He's right, for once. We're both drenched. Come with me," Helena said and grabbed Myka's hand. She led her up the stairs to her room and proceeded to pull clothing from her bureau. She leafed through various sets of trousers and blouses until she found something she felt was suitable. "Here, take these, I think they should fit." She handed Myka a pair of dark blue slacks and white shirt along with a grey cardigan. Myka smiled at the selection. It was something she would have picked for herself. She gathered the bundle in her arms and walked behind the dressing partition, but quickly realized she wanted to put her hair up before changing. She stepped out from behind the partition and pulled her hair into a loose bundle.

"Helena? Do you have a ribbon for my hai –" Her question caught in her throat and she came to an abrupt stop.

Helena, who had begun to change, wore pants not yet buttoned and had just put her arms through the sleeves of her shirt when she turned to find Emma's eyes pouring over her exposed skin. Whatever chill Myka had felt from the rain immediately evaporated as her vision grew thick and her mind raced with imagined thoughts:

 

> _The two women locked eyes and Helena's movements slowed; she managed to pull her shirt up around her shoulders before moving her hands to the buttons where they simply ceased all movement. Myka's heart pounded in her chest. Helena held her gaze and there was no mistaking what she found in her guest's eyes. She wore the look of a woman flush with desire. Watching Helena watch her back reminded her of a lone pebble breaking through still water, and she let the feeling wash over her like so many ripples. If Myka had hoped to keep any pretense about her thoughts, she no longer had that luxury. Helena was the first to speak. "I thought it was just me," she said quietly. She dropped her hands to her sides leaving her buttons unattended._
> 
> " _What, ah, what was just you?" Myka's words came slowly and her throat felt dry. She finally let her eyes drop from Helena's when the woman stepped toward her. The shirt fluttered precariously and Myka turned away. She braced herself against the dressing partition gripping the top of it with all her might._ Oh, God, please don't come any closer _, she begged in her thoughts._ Please, please, please _. But Helena continued. She advanced until she stood so close the scent of her permeated Myka's every thought. She flinched when she felt Helena's hands against her body followed by her breath against the back of her neck._
> 
> _Helena lifted her hands to pull Myka's hair behind her shoulders bringing them to a slow rest on Myka's arms. The two women stood, breathing hard, both afraid to move. Myka fought with all her will to push away the emotion and the wanting, but Helena drove all sensibility from her mind when she reached under her outstretched arms and began loosening the buttons to her shirt. A tremor went through her as she felt the cold wet fabric peel away from her body. Helena's hands drew the garment down gently coaxing Myka's arms from the partition. Myka was helpless and began to shiver, not from cold, but from the barriers of her mind collapsing down around her. She knew she should stop. She knew this tenderness belonged to someone else, but she could not quiet the awakened longing inside of her. Helena listened as Myka's breathing grew irregular, and felt her own pulse quicken with each caress against the lightly dampened skin._
> 
> _She had struggled for days since meeting Emma, unable to keep her out of her thoughts, and trying to understand what it was that set her so apart from any other woman she had ever met. She placed the back of her hand between Myka's bare shoulder blades and let it slowly trace a line to the small of her back. Whatever it was about this woman before her, she had come to recognize a physicality she had never expected to find and she no longer cared to deny it. She wanted her. She had no idea if there might be greater meaning in the wanting, but watching her hand glide along the smooth gentle curves of her body she felt more alive than she knew was ever possible. She swallowed hard and brought her hands to Myka's waist, scared to move forward and scared to stop. She let her hands linger as the debate raged between her body and her mind until her hands faltered and she moved to step away._
> 
> _Myka's thoughts swam and she reacted instinctively throwing all rationale and internal dissent to the side. She caught Helena's hands pulling them forward and drawing Helena's body flush with her own. She felt the warmth of skin against her own and a surge moved through her as she relished the closeness of the contact. She took each of Helena's hesitant hands in one of her own sliding them up her stomach until they reached the folds beneath her breasts. She felt Helena exhale against her shoulder when she placed their hands over the yielding muscle pressing her own hands to silently coax Helena out of her shell. It did not take long. Myka inhaled sharply when she felt Helena move of her own accord, kneading the suppleness of her breasts and dragging the pads of her fingers roughly against her nipples before rolling them between her fingers. They stood rigid, aching, and hard. Myka's head fell backward against Helena's shoulder and she felt the woman's mouth begin to move against her neck. She moaned involuntarily and turned her face toward the source of pleasure, wanting the searching hungry mouth against her own._
> 
> _The kiss may as well have been a fuse. The moment their lips touched a flurry of movement ensued. Myka's hands reached under Helena's shirt exploring the feel of her lean body as she drove Helena backward toward the bed. Helena gripped at Myka's back and head pulling herself closer, aching at the intoxicating feel of Myka's skin against her own. Myka ran her hands upward cupping Helena's breasts smiling wickedly when the woman moaned into her open mouth. She kissed her harder and pushed her back onto the bed keeping her thigh between Helena's legs as they descended. Helena reached behind Myka, pulling her in tighter, her hips raised and pressed toward the delicious pressure._
> 
> _Myka dropped her head to Helena's shoulder where she traced a line with the tip of her tongue all the way back up to the soft bare patch of skin under Helena's ear. She felt the other woman shudder and then suddenly found herself on her back with Helena staring down at her. The dark eyes blazed with fervor and Myka felt hands tugging at her belt. She reached down to assist, but Helena pushed her hands away. With one hand she continued to loosen the belt, and she used her other arm to balance her weight as she lowered herself to Myka's chest. She quickly placed her mouth over one of Myka's breasts, gliding her tongue and sucking lightly at the nipple until Myka began squirming - her grip painfully tight on the other woman's shoulders. Helena freed the belt and unbuttoned Myka's pants. She played at the exposed skin, letting her fingertips slip below the hem and back up again and feeling Myka heave with each pass._
> 
> _She brought her mouth back up to Myka's neck, nipping gently as she laid rough kisses against it. She felt desperate hands tangle through her hair pressing into her silently asking for more. She brought her mouth to Myka's again and took one lip between both of hers gracefully tracing an exquisitely slow line with her tongue on the inside of the malleable flesh. Myka's hands dropped and moved to lift Helena's body causing her lover to grunt in protest, but Myka raised her head and whispered into her ear._
> 
> " _I want you inside of me." There was one last motion as Myka shed herself of her last remnants of clothing and she lay back pushing her hips up against Helena's weight. Helena exhaled forcefully as she lowered herself and slid her hand down Myka's body. She hesitated momentarily at the patch of Myka's feathery softness before slipping into the folds of the molten inferno awaiting her touch. Myka heaved in response, her hips urgently calling for entrance. Helena raised her upper body so she could look into Myka's face as she coated herself in her lover's liquid passion; she let her fingers circle the headwater of Myka's desire teasing the narrow passage and sending the other woman into a craven frenzy._
> 
> " _Now! Helena, God, please now." Myka's plea filled her mind and she felt her begin to undulate against her. "I want to feel you." Helena collapsed her head to Myka's shoulder pushing her fingers inside curling them intimately as she motioned within. Myka lifted bodily from the bed as she brought her hips upwards driving Helena deeper and harder. Faster and faster they thrust together, matching rhythms. Both women breathed in shallow gasps, their lungs burning from the strain. And just when Myka thought she would explode she heard Helena call her name._
> 
> " _Emma," Helena whispered breathily. Myka's eyes opened. There it was again, the stark reminder of her plight. "Emma?" Helena's voice raised in a question._

Myka roused herself from her thoughts. Helena was staring at her calling her name. "Huh? What? Sorry," she said shaking her head free of the imagery.

"I was just asking if you still wanted this?" She held up a dark hair ribbon. Myka saw she had finished dressing while her thoughts had run rampant. "Emma," she said with a look of concern. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, right. Yes, yes, thanks. Yeah. I'm fine. Fine." Myka grabbed the ribbon and darted back behind the partition. _Jesus Christ!_ She berated herself as she dressed and did her best to push every imagined thought from her mind as she pulled back her hair tying it with the newly acquired ribbon. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly hoping to have regained composure. She peeked out, tentatively, and saw Helena watching her with a curious expression. "Hi," Myka said meekly. "I'm done." _Of course you're done, you idiot, she can see that!_ "I mean, uhm, thanks for the clothes. They're great." _Smooth. Really smooth._

Helena gave her the seductively bemused half-smile Myka was growing to hate and said nothing until she walked to the door. "I'll get dinner ready. Follow if you'd like to join me."


	10. Thoughtful Moments

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Ten, Thoughtful Moments

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

Helena and Nikola sat at the table near the platform. Everyone else had dispersed throughout the Warehouse and the only noise other than their conversation was the quiet hum of the self-generating battery keeping Myka's connection to her mind alive. Helena picked up a card from the deck on the table and placed it in her hand. She paired it with two other cards and laid them down before placing a fourth card on top of the discard pile. "Do you really have to leave in the morning?" She asked him.

"Mmm, yes, I have a number of things to do." He picked up her discard and laid it down within three others before making a discard. "But I can come back if you'd like. Sleeping Beauty will be out for another couple of weeks, right?"

"Yes," said Helena. "She won't wake up for another eighteen days… though it will feel like eighteen years before it's done, most likely." She sighed heavily and pulled a card from the deck. She discarded it and watched as Nikola picked it up.

He laid down his entire hand, discarded, and said "Gin." Helena blinked twice and stared at his cards in disbelief. She had never lost a game of Gin to him in all the years they had known one another. "Okay, out with it. Something's going on that you're not telling me. You never lose at this game."

Helena looked at her cards again and tossed them on the table. "I don't know, Nikola. I don't _know_!" He raised an eyebrow as she stood and started pacing. "What if she doesn't come back? What if something happens to her?" She had not yet told him her real fears or who Emma had been to her. The only thing he knew was that Myka was trapped in another time.

Nikola regarded her carefully and sat forward before asking his loaded question. "So have you told her how you feel, yet, or are you still in denial yourself?"

Her head shot up at the question. "Told her how I feel about what?"

"Denial it is." He leaned back in his chair before continuing. "You know, I'll never understand what it is with you glorious English women in my life. You can be so alluringly brilliant and yet so incredibly daft at the same time." Helena stared at him. "Are you really not aware of your feelings for gorgeous over there?" She followed his eyes and looked at Myka.

Helena gave a defeated sigh and dropped her shoulders in resignation. "No, I know how I feel," she said quietly. "I just didn't think anyone else knew."

"I'm not an idiot," he said with a laugh. "But, then, there was never any doubt about that." He looked up at her. "The more important matter at hand is whether or not she knows. _Does_ she know?"

Helena shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"And how does she feel about you?" He watched her as he asked the question noting her sudden agitation.

Helena started pacing again. "It's never come up, Nikola. I haven't the foggiest idea. We've known each other a good while, now, and there are so many times I've wanted to tell her – so many things I haven't said." She stopped and looked at Myka. Her words were a whisper when she spoke. "So many things I might never get to say."

"Well, in a couple of weeks you'll get to rectify that," he said. "Have you thought about what you'll say when she wakes up?"

Helena blinked and felt a sudden sense of dread. That she would have to look Myka in the eye afterwards had not even crossed her mind.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 05 May 1893)

 

"What's all this?" Myka sat in the expansive sitting area looking at the myriad of papers, notes, and books splayed out over the floor and sofa. She noted numerous scientific texts ranging from basic biology to complex optics as well as philosophical tomes, and even a small variety of medical-themed periodicals. "It looks like someone's been very hard at work in here." Without thinking she picked up a book she found laying face-down on the floor. She marked the page with one of the papers before carefully closing it and depositing it safely on the table in front of her. As she set it down she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and quickly reached out to successfully rescue one of Helena's papers from Charles' cat. She smiled and scratched Mrs. Godswine on her head before letting her sprint away. Myka placed the paper with the others and started laughing. The rescued sheet of notes was only the most recent casualty judging by the teeth marks peppering every other loose piece of paper.

"Oh, yes. Sorry about the mess." Helena lifted her head from the cast-iron pot she had set and turned the burner off. "It's just a bit of research I'm doing. I'd forgotten I left it out here. I usually do all my work in the study."

Myka scanned the table. The green hard-covered text was worn and ragged. It was clearly a well-used and under-loved favorite; many of its pages seemed to have been dog-eared making the book appear slightly fuller than it otherwise should. She adjusted it on the table and tilted her head to read the lettering: _On the Origin of Species._ Myka glanced over at Helena, who was setting their places at the dining table, before returning her gaze to the tattered book. She flipped carefully to the cover page: _On the Origin of the Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life by Charles Darwin, M.A.._ She looked at the publication date and noted it as 1859. "Wow," she said in an awed voice. "A first edition?" She calculated the worth in her head and winced when she considered the condition of the text.

"What's that dear?" Helena walked glassware over to the table and returned to the kitchen.

"This," Myka said and lifted the book. "It's a first edition?" She noted the appearance of what looked like ink near the top of the page, but it was not ink exactly. Closer examination told her the writing from which the ink had bled was on the other side. She turned the page and quickly read the inscription: _H.G., may all your dearest inquiries one day have answers_. The autograph was nearly illegible. "A _signed_ first edition?" Myka closed the book and set it down reverently. "Incredible."

"Indeed. I met Mr. Darwin a few years before his death. I suppose that was about eight or so years ago, if memory serves." She paused and leaned against the counter as she spoke. "He was quite the character, always had a gleam in his eye when he talked of his theories. He found my many questions to be hugely entertaining." She picked up a towel and folded it thoughtfully in her hands. "We had a lively discussion about the implications of humanity's degeneration, once." She used the towel to help protect her hands as she lifted the handle of the pot from the stove and began walking toward the dining room. "It rather intrigued me, as you can no doubt appreciate. The idea of what could happen if mankind were to find some sort of collision between its physical progression and its societal one. That sent me off in search of the possibilities, and improbabilities, of the direction in which nature might take the advancement of mankind. The ensuing research I did ended up as the basis for Charles' short story, "The Chronic Argonauts" which he's currently considering reworking for the _Pall Mall_." She set the pot on the table and turned around. "I think we're ready to eat now."

Myka stood and walked to the dining room. She sat in the chair Helena pulled out for her and placed the linen napkin in her lap. Helena smiled and took the seat next to her. "What's a 'Pall Mall'?" Myka asked as she cut a piece of bread from the freshly baked loaf near the pot. It was still hot to the touch and she quickly dropped it on Helena's plate before shaking her fingers in the air.

"Oh, yes, I do forget I'm in America sometimes." She lifted the lid from the pot and the delectable odor of home-made stew filled the air as she stirred its contents with a ladle. " _The Pall Mall Gazette_. It's an evening newspaper back home, in London. Until recently it was a rather radical paper."

Myka cut herself a piece of bread, careful not to burn her fingers this time. "Until recently? What happened?" She reached for the butter and offered it to Helena who gladly took a few pats and spread them across Myka's bread before doing the same for her own. Myka set the butter plate down and picked up her bowl.

"Change in editors, I'm afraid. It truly is amazing how one person can so alter the course of events, don't you think?" Helena took Myka's bowl and filled it with the piping hot stew. "I hope you like it. With the weather out, I decided we could use something rather hearty."

"Thank you," Myka said as she took the bowl back. "It smells delicious!" She smiled and lifted a spoonful to her mouth blowing on it before eagerly letting the flavors blend in her mouth. She could taste delectable bits of beef, potato, carrots, celery, and other vegetables in addition to the savory thick broth. It was perfect. "Mmm," she mumbled her approval and took another bite.

"Good," Helena smiled. "I'm glad you like it. It was always William's favorite, too."

"William?" Myka asked as she broke off a piece of her bread and popped it into her mouth.

"Mmhmm," she murmured as she swallowed a spoonful of the stew. "Surely I told you of Christina? My daughter?"

Myka racked her brain. She did not want to reveal knowledge of Christina without first making sure Helena had mentioned her since their meeting in this period. She could think of no occasion where the topic had arisen. "No, actually, you hadn't mentioned it," she said tentatively.

"Ah, well, yes I have a daughter, she's two now." Helena stood from the table and walked into the adjoining room where Myka had just been. She reached above the fireplace and returned with a small photograph showing her holding a newborn infant. A man stood behind her with his hand on the baby.

Myka looked at the photograph and smiled. "She looks just like you," she said and tore off another piece of bread. "Who's that?" She pointed at the man in the photograph and stuffed the bread into her mouth. The silky butter meshed incredibly well with the soft texture of the bread and she delighted in the way the era's non-processed food tasted so fresh and wholesome.

"That's William, Christina's father." Helena set the picture on the table. "We had this picture taken the day Christina was born, just a few days after our wedding." Myka choked on her bread so hard she could not catch her breath. "Gracious!" Helena exclaimed. She started to rise from her chair and then realized Myka was able to breathe, albeit with difficulty. She sat back down and watched her. "It's best not to try inhaling solid foods." Her observation was lost on Myka who struggled for air through a full ten seconds of violent coughing. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen anyone turn quite that shade of purple." Myka's sputtering slowed as Helena reached for a water glass. "Here, drink this."

Myka took the glass but coughed another few seconds before taking a long sip. When she was sure the fit was over she wiped at her face with her napkin. "Oh, man," she said. "I just…" she coughed one last time and shook her head as she replayed their exchange. "Sorry. Did you just say you're _married_?"

"Well not anymore," Helena said casually and resumed eating. "We were only together a short while. William was beside himself wanting to ensure Christina would have his last name, but I divorced him anyway – honestly, if I hadn't been pregnant I never would have married him in the first place. Poor chap took it quite hard." Myka stared at her. "He still sees her, which is good I suppose. That's where she is right now, actually, spending the summer with him." It took Myka a few minutes to digest the information. Somehow the idea of H.G. Wells as a Victorian-era divorcée seemed both impossible and appropriate at the same time. "Did you want some more water, darling?" Helena put her hand on the pitcher and nodded toward Myka's hand.

"What?" Myka looked at the glass she still held aloft. "Oh. No. No, I'm good," she said placing it back down. As they returned to their bowls they lost themselves in conversation spending most of the time in discussion about Helena's newest research into light-refraction. From the sound of it Myka determined the work would eventually result in the writing of "The Invisible Man." Before either of them knew it soft chimes from the sitting room's clock struck the nine o'clock hour. "Oh! It's getting late," Myka exclaimed and pushed herself back from the table. She had eaten two large bowls of the stout meal and was positively stuffed. "I really should be going. Thank you so much for the wonderful dinner." She stood from the table with effort.

"Anytime," Helena said. She genuinely meant it. She had enjoyed the woman's company immensely, finding the ability to converse on such complex topics both appealing and refreshing. She was already feeling a strange sense of loss knowing their night was drawing to its close. It struck her as odd that she should feel this way knowing they would see each other again so soon. She bit down on her lower lip as she followed Myka to the door. "I'll wait with you at the taxi stand," she said and grabbed a coat from the peg on the wall as Myka opened the front door.

"You don't need to do that," Myka replied. She looked outside and saw it was still raining harder than she would have liked. She did not want Helena in the deluge for no good reason.

"Nonsense," Helena responded. "It will do me good to see you off safely." She placed her hand on the small of Myka's back and gently pushed her forward. They walked two blocks to the nearest taxi-stand where Myka was able to flag a hansom. She gave the address to the driver at the rear of the vehicle and quickly boarded to avoid being rained upon further.

Myka leaned her head out of the window and gave Helena a quick smile. "I'll see you tomorrow at the storefront? Eleven o'clock?"

Helena smiled back and nodded. "Yes, I'll see you there." The driver called to the horses and the carriage rolled forward. Helena stood, hands in her pockets, watching the carriage until it disappeared behind the curtain of falling rain.

She walked home slowly, completely oblivious to the torrential storm, thinking only of the difficulty she had every time she had to say goodbye to Emma. She smiled as she thought of her face, and not for the first time wondered if Emma ever thought of her, too. She crossed the street and stepped down into a puddle of water without noticing. She was not entirely unfamiliar with the feelings rushing through her, she knew that much. Though she had yet to analyze them to the fullest extent, she decided to at least acknowledge them for what they were. She had more than just a passing physical attraction to the woman. She was beautiful, beyond doubt, but she was also highly intelligent – which, to Helena's mind, was the far more attractive quality. Clearly she was well-read, and she seemed genuinely interested in science. She also had no trouble defending her beliefs with true passion. What was there not to like? Helena smiled again as she thought of Emma's behavior earlier in the day. She could still see the innocent blue-eyes trying to defend her love of licorice.

"The tin!" She exclaimed aloud to no one. She thought briefly about retrieving the candy and debated whether or not she could catch up to her. Ultimately, she decided against it. Chasing after her would be pointless, not to mention a little too obvious. More importantly, it was almost certain she would be unable to overtake Myka's swift-moving carriage with the weather being what it was. _Besides_ , she smiled to herself, _it will give me an excuse to have her back at the house._ She pondered at the thought and then sighed running her hands through her sopping hair. _Helena, what are you doing? Are you really trying to seduce the poor woman? God, why does she have to be so infuriatingly adorable with such endearing mannerisms mixed with all that fiery passion?_ The combination of innocence and charm was inexplicably unsettling, and Helena found herself drawn to it beyond all reason. She just wanted to take Emma in her arms sometimes and shield her from all the world, keeping her safe and making sure she never lost even an ounce of the purity she saw in her eyes. _Well, perhaps she's not all that pure,_ she thought with a laugh. _Maybe I should have employed a bit of propriety earlier this evening._ Although she had not intended it when it happened, that she was able to cause Emma uncomfortably libidinous thoughts seemed more than evident. She recalled Emma's face when she stepped from behind the dressing panel. _Libidinous indeed_ , she mused. It was not the first time she had noted Emma's tendency toward clearly indiscreet thoughts, and she could have easily done a better job of ignoring the last one if she had really wanted to. _But seeing her flush so much… I loved it, didn't I? Yes. I did,_ she answered herself. In and of itself, just knowing she could get to Emma like that felt like a drug and she could not help wondering what next steps there might be as she continued to chase the dragon.

She arrived at her doorstep not remembering the walk so lost in thought had she been the entire way home. She looked down at her sodden clothes and laughed. She was completely saturated from head to toe. She stepped through the door muttering to herself, "Oh, Emma, what _am_ I going to do about you?" If anyone had been standing outside a few minutes later they would have heard her using distinctly colorful language as she chased her brother's cat up the stairs.


	11. Truths

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Eleven, Truths

  


 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"Hello, Pete." Helena greeted him as he walked into the common area at Leena's. Claudia looked up from the set of diagrams she had spread across the floor where Helena, now seated on the sofa, and she had been looking at schematics. Claudia was hoping to learn enough about the device to see if there was a way she could integrate it with any of Farnsworth's technology.

"Hey Pete," Claudia gave him a smile. "Wanna help?" She pointed to the diagrams and grinned. She knew better than to think he would join her, but it was still fun to ask.

"Nah," he said to her without acknowledging Helena's salutation. "I just wanted to see if you knew where Myka keeps her ferret's food. Leena's been feeding him, but I noticed his bowl is empty."

"Oh, no dude, I have no idea," Claudia scrunched her face. "I try to have as little do with that smelly little rodent as possible."

"Oh, they're not rodents, darling." Helena corrected her. "They belong to an entirely different order."

Pete rolled his eyes at her and addressed Claudia again. "Well if you see Leena can you let her know he needs to be fed?" He turned around brusquely and left.

Claudia gave Helena a sympathizing look. "Okay, seriously, _what_ is going on between you two? Ever since he got back he's been behaving like that whenever you're around." She turned defensive as she thought about it. "It's crap!"

"It's a long st–" Helena started to reply.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence." Claudia held up her hand and gestured for her to stop. "When is anything _not_ a long story around here? So, come on, out with it."

Helena took a heaving sigh and looked at the young agent. She was so full of spirit, of life, and innocence. It was hard sometimes to remember she had once been the same. "I've done a lot of things in my life. I'm not proud of all of them." She licked her lips thoughtfully before continuing. "But, the thing is..." she paused and considered her words. "The truth is I don't regret any of my choices."

Claudia sat back and studied her as she spoke. "But, you…" Her voice trailed off and the two women fell into an awkward silence. Helena was the one to break it.

"I know." She sat forward leaning her elbows on her knees. "I've done terrible things. I've hurt people – and if there is anything for which I am sorry, it is that. But," she clasped her hands together resting her weight on her elbows. "Truth presents itself through experience – I could choose to judge those experiences in hindsight, but to what end? Self-flagellation? No. I made my choices, right or wrong, because I thought they were the right ones at the time. That the consequences ended up as good or bad is not an appropriate determination of whether any of us should regret our choices." Helena took in another deep breath. "Employing _that_ line of thinking is intellectual cowardice. The end simply does not justify the means." She ran her fingers through her hair and finished her thought. "So, no Claudia, I don't believe in living with regret for my choices. I simply take the truth revealed by those consequences, and let it become part of what guides me as I move forward."

"So you're saying what, that you did something in 1898 that Pete can't accept and you're okay with that?" Claudia could not quite wrap her head around that part of the puzzle.

"Essentially," Helena answered. "Yes. I would dearly love to talk with him about it, but he has barely spoken to me since he returned. And, yes, I know why he is upset. But I cannot do anything about his perception. All I can do is tell him why I made the choices I made, and what I learned from the consequences. What he chooses to think of me is something over which I have no control." The admission seemed to hurt her and she furrowed her brow as she sat back into the sofa and closed her eyes.

Claudia sat looking at her, wondering at the many-faceted woman before her. Every time she thought she understood Helena, she would turn a corner only to find there was some entirely new dimension to her that threw off everything she previously understood. She had no idea what happened in 1898, and though she had a natural curiosity, for the most part she did not really care. She liked Helena. She always found her approach to any given puzzle to be admirably objective, and she noted that kind of thorough and level-headed focus had saved her, and the others, more than once. Claudia could never be grateful enough for that byproduct of Helena's personality. She gave Helena one last look and smiled to herself. Whoever she had been and whatever she had done, who she was today was someone she hoped would always be around. Claudia sincerely felt the Warehouse, and its employees, were better off because of it. She turned back to her schematics and said, "Okay, Farnsworth, let's see whatcha got."

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 06 May 1893)

 

Myka checked the newspaper clipping Helena brought with her and sneezed. When it fell to the ground Helena picked it up and handed it back. "Bless you," she said evaluating her in the process. She noticed the slightly pink nose and tired eyes. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Thanks," Myka responded with a sniff. She had awakened feeling a little stuffy, but was well-enough to handle the day's outing. "I think I might be catching a cold."

"With as much time as we've spent out in the elements it's no wonder." Helena said reprovingly. "Well, then, let us try to make this as quick an outing as we can, shall we?" She did not like the idea of them spending too much time out in the weather. Although it had recently stopped raining, she did not trust the reprieve to be anything other than temporary. Myka nodded her head and looked at the newspaper clipping and then to the numbering on the outside of the brownstone in front of them. The addresses did not match.

"Looks like we just need to go one more over," she announced. Helena looked to the next building and began walking. The home of the young girl, Amelia Vole, was a modest one-and-a-half story house directly across from a large park on the southern edge of the city's business district. It had an average sized yard and a black iron gate outlined its border with the sidewalk. Forgotten toys littered the grassy area serving as lonely reminders of their missing caretaker. Myka could not help feeling a chill as she considered the stark contrast they provided against the backdrop of vibrant colors from the surrounding flower garden.

Helena placed a hand on her ailing companion's arm halting their forward momentum. "Emma, what do you plan on saying to them?" She threw a worried look toward the house.

"I'll tell them we're investigating their daughter's disappearance," she said and took a step forward. "Why?"

Helena placed her hand on Myka's arm again. "I talked to James early this morning – you remember James? You met the other night at the Exposition – tall, arrogant, thinks he's infallible?" Myka nodded. She remembered the hour-long tirade she received on the man after their last night at the Fair. From what she gleaned the two brilliant minds kept a respectful working relationship, but there was clearly no love lost between them. "Yes, well he tells me there have been numerous reports of missing people and the number seems to be climbing. Right now it looks like a handful of women in addition to the two children have gone missing in the last month. So, while we might be investigating this little girl's disappearance, we would do well to remember we're not _actually_ the authorities."

"I know that." She gave Helena a reproachful look. _Damn it, I hadn't thought about that_ , she said to herself. She was so used to being able to step into any situation as Myka Bering, Secret Service Agent, that not being able to do so never crossed her mind. "I don't know," she said. "I'll think of something." When Helena gave her a doubtful look she said, "Trust me, I know what I'm doing." They entered through the gate and quietly walked the path toward the house. Myka's eyes rested briefly on a small red bicycle leaning against the front steps. It was yet another reminder of the missing child. If she had any chance of trying to help this family, she needed to be at the top of her game. Myka raised her hand to the door, exchanged glances with Helena, and knocked four times. A young woman answered. She had blonde hair pulled back tightly from her face, and the worry evident in her eyes reminded Myka to be gentle with her questions. "Hello, Mrs. Vole?"

"That's right," the woman answered looking at both of the strangers at her door.

"Yes, hi, my name is My – " she caught herself quickly, "My name is Emeline. Emeline Cigrand, and this is Helena Wells." She nodded toward Helena before continuing. "We're here about the recent events concerning your daughter."

"Oh, are you with the ladies from the Church?" The woman gave them both a slight smile and craned her neck to look behind them. "I think you're the first to arrive. I wasn't expecting anyone for another half an hour. Please come in." She stepped back allowing the gap in the door to widen. Helena and Myka furtively exchanged glances before stepping through.

They followed her through the pleasantly decorated home. The wide hallway was lined with various photographs. An opened roll-top desk sat off to the right at the end. As they passed it, the woman stopped to close the lid. "Sorry," she said. "I was just writing a letter to my sister in New York." Myka inhaled deeply taking in the smell of freshly baked cookies. She saw why as they entered the large open space to the left of the hallway entrance. Mrs. Vole walked toward a table and held her hand toward it. "Please help yourself. There are a good variety of desserts," she said pointing to the spread. "We have cherry pie, pound cake, brownies, two different kinds of cheesecake, and this one is apple strudel. Oh, and over here on this table," she said pointing to a seating area, "are some cookies I just set out. They might still be a little warm, though, so be careful."

Myka eyed the table but spoke apprehensively, "Thank you, no, I don't really eat sugar." She did not trust herself enough to make a plate. Helena raised an eyebrow at her statement but said nothing; she could not tell if the comment was meant to be taken seriously.

"Well, if you change your mind," Mrs. Vole said and motioned for them to sit. She had set a long table near the back of the room and moved to sit on one of the two benches. Myka and Helena took the one on the opposite side.

"Mrs. Vole," Myka began. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for what you're going through right now." The woman looked at her with a sad smile.

"Thank you," she said meekly. "It's been very hard. It seems like years even though it's only been a few days. And when I think I might never see her again, I just… I feel like giving up on everything." Her last words were spoken so quietly Myka had to strain to hear them.

"I can imagine," Helena sympathized. "I have a daughter, too. The idea of losing her, well, quite honestly I cannot imagine a more terrible thought." She leaned forward as she spoke. "But, darling, you mustn't lose hope. Not ever. Not for any reason." Myka did her best not to react. As the two women bonded she contemplated Helena's words. She was instantly reminded of the completely opposite sentiment she knew the woman of her day once held. As she listened to the two women speak she wondered for the first time whether Artie's warning was more important than the attempt to try to tap into the faith Helena naturally seemed to have in the world. She picked up a cookie without thinking and started chewing it. When the conversation shifted to Amelia, Myka let her ruminations fall to the wayside. She had more crucial matters to which she needed to attend.

"Yes, that's right, we made our way over to the Exposition in the early afternoon, but we didn't go in until much later." Mrs. Vole nodded and looked quizzically between them. "I'm sorry; who did you say you were again? You're from the Church – the Ladies Prayer Vigil?" The number of questions Helena had asked appeared to have finally roused her suspicions.

"Actually, Mrs. Vole" Myka said glancing at Helena for assistance. "We're not with the Church."

"That's right," Helena jumped into the conversation before the woman could respond. "We're here at the behest of a colleague – he works with an Inspector Detective at Scotland Yard. He knew I was here in town and asked if I'd come by." It was the perfect cover. Myka hid her smile.

"Scotland Yard? Oh!" The woman grew interested and serious. "Does he work with Sherlock Holmes? He's the best detective in the world!"

Myka noticed Helena's strained smile and quickly stepped in before the stalled expression gave way to a cacophony of indelicate epithets. "In a manner of speaking," she quickly offered. "He wanted us to see if we could learn any more details." She gave Helena a nervous look. "You know, to see if he could offer any help in the investigation." She pretended not to notice the strangled noise Helena made. Rather than call attention to it, she folded her hands in her lap and focused her attention on the woman while giving her the most convincing smile she could muster.

"Oh my," Mrs. Vole responded, "I had no idea we would have the assistance of such a famed detective."

"Neither did he, I'm sure." Helena retorted before Myka could prevent it. Instead she reached over and touched Helena's leg hoping to quiet any further outbursts that might ruin their cover. She saw Helena turn out of the corner of her eye but kept her attention fixed on the conversation.

"What she means is, we're all more than happy to help. If there's any detail you can think of, anything that you might not have already told the police, it would be very important for us to know." Helena shifted uncomfortably as Myka spoke. Despite the serious conversation the hand on her leg was exceedingly disruptive; she was having difficulty concentrating. She felt a gentle squeeze as she squirmed; the fidgeting immediately stopped and the hand relaxed. Helena got the message. The situation amused Myka enough for a sly grin to bravely attempt an appearance. In the end it lost to the impeccable defenses of her self-control.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Vole. "I'm pretty sure I've told the police everything I know, already."

Myka removed her hand from Helena's leg and pulled the newspaper clipping from her pocket. Helena relaxed. "The newspaper said Amelia went missing around five o'clock in the afternoon," Myka suggested. The woman nodded.

"Yes. It was right around then. We had just entered the grounds to the Colombian Exposition; she wanted to ride on Mr. Ferris' wheel." She looked at Helena. "We'd visited the nearby candy store, made a small purchase, and then I went to buy tickets for the ride. She was right next to me! I only had my eyes off of her for a few minutes." The words spilled out like a confession, and Helena reached across the table to pat her hand.

"It's not your fault," she said. "You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes things happen, unfortunate things, and there's nobody to blame." Myka would have given anything for a tape recording of Helena's words.

"I wish you could say that to Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler," she said and took her hand back with a sigh.

"The Wheelers," Helena recalled the name. "Those are the parents of the boy who went missing the day after Amelia?"

Mrs. Vole nodded. "Yes, Christopher was beside himself when he heard Amelia was missing. He went looking for her and…" She faltered.

"Wait," Myka interjected. "Christopher and Amelia knew each other?" Helena and she exchanged looks. Besides the candy store, it was the first connection for the children they had found.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Vole nodded her head vigorously. "They were the best of friends. They only live a few blocks down." She wrung her hands. "Do you think that's important – that they knew each other?"

"It could be," Myka said with a reassuring smile. "Every detail matters with these investigations. There's no telling what might help us as we continue to look for them. Is there anything else you can think of that might be important?"

The woman looked upward and to her left as she tried to recall some new detail. She shook her head after a few minutes of earnest concentration. "Honestly, I can't think of anything." Myka was going to ask for directions to the Wheeler's home, but the sound of a knock at the door let them know the Church group had arrived. Helena and she thanked Mrs. Vole for her time before they departed.

"So now what?" Helena followed Myka down the path, bypassing a steady stream of women coming from the Church across the street.

"Now? Now, I say we grab something to eat before heading to the Wheelers." Myka looked around trying to find a nearby restaurant. She had skipped breakfast and after the cookie her stomach was rumbling for something more substantial. Helena watched her as she looked up and down the street. Even in the muted light from the overcast skies she looked radiant.

Myka turned suddenly and flashed a brilliant smile. "I see an Italian restaurant! Come on, I'm starving! I can't wait to order a giant plate of carbonara!"

"Carbon what?" Helena said making a face.

"Carbonara," Myka corrected her. "It's a wonderful pasta dish with bacon, cheese, eggs, peas, carrots, and mushrooms. I just feel a sudden craving for it."

"What an odd combination of ingredients," Helena commented. "You say it's called carbonara? I've never heard of it before."

Myka realized her mistake immediately after Helena spoke. The dish, while a favorite from her own period, had not been invented yet in Helena's time. "Yes, but I don't expect it to be on the menu." She quickly covered her tracks. "It's an old family recipe. I can always settle for lasagna." Helena gave her a slight nod.

"Why not pancetta?" Helena asked. Her mind was stuck on the list of ingredients for the recipe.

Myka's mind was already on a nice plate of lasagna. She had no idea what Helena was talking about, and she was too hungry to care. "C'mon, let's go!" Myka feigned frustration before breaking into a grin. She grabbed Helena's hand and started walking – pulling the recalcitrant woman behind her. The action broke Helena from one contemplation, and threw her into another, as she mulled the feeling of their entwined hands. But she dutifully fell into step and Myka freed her from her grasp giving her a small nudge with her shoulder. The small affection brought a smile to both their faces.

Helena knew Emma meant her gestures as innocently as she had always meant them, but if she were truthful she would have to admit they no longer had a completely innocent effect. She was captivated by Emma, and more and more was growing to find herself completely entranced by the way she spoke and thought. She was entirely different from any other woman, any other _person_ , she had ever met. She could not have asked for a more kindred spirit if she had tried, and it stirred something inside of her.

The sun finally broke through the clouds as they walked and they elected to take their meal at a table on the restaurant's outdoor patio. Helena did her best to stay focused in their conversation, but every time Emma smiled at her she would find her mind wandering within moments. It did not help matters when she looked up to see Emma rubbing at the back of her neck. Ever since Helena first noticed the habit, she would find her eyes drawn to the offending spot. She watched as Emma's hands moved rhythmically to relieve whatever tension she felt, and her eyes lingered on the soft bone structure of her jaw where it met with the contours of the gently sloping neck. From there Helena's eyes, as always, did not fail in allowing her to admire the natural elegance in all her features. One small gesticulation and within seconds Helena's mind was a million miles away.

She wondered what it might feel like to run her own hands over the flawless skin, and whether doing so might have any unintended effects on the other woman. She smiled at the thought. They would not be unintended effects. She knew that. But she still wondered what the effects might be. As imagined sounds and images floated through her senses she felt the beginnings of an arousal she never would have expected. It so startled her she snapped to attention with eyes as wide as saucers. She gave silent thanks when Emma failed to notice.

They spent the rest of the afternoon locating the Wheeler residence where they spoke with the missing boy's parents. They were unable to learn much of value, but they did find out the boy had sworn he had seen Amelia the very day he went missing. He had insisted to his parents that he saw the girl in the backyard of the house behind the candy store. Neither Myka nor Helena could remember seeing a house behind the building, but if he was right – and if that was where he went trying to find her, they needed to find the house. Sooner rather than later.


	12. Disturbances

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Twelve, Disturbances

 

(Dwight, IL – 08 May 1893)

 

"Ugh, I feel like death warmed over," Myka lamented and coughed into her handkerchief before stuffing it into the pocket of her bathrobe. It was the first time in days she had felt well enough to venture beyond her bedroom since succumbing to her cold.

"And you look it, dear cousin," said Andrew. He looked up from his newspaper as she descended the stairs. "Not feeling any better?"

"Not much," she said. "But I needed to get out of bed." She walked over to the couch opposite of Andrew and drew a small knitted blanket over her legs.

"Victoria?" Andrew called to one of his servants. A few minutes later a young woman appeared. She wore her service uniform and held a feather duster in her hand.

"Sir?" she said with a curtsey. Myka rolled her eyes and let her head fall against the cushion. She had watched the antiquated formalities too many times to care to see it again.

"Bring some tea, would you?" Andrew's voice seemed detached and Myka knew he was talking to the girl without looking at her. She hated it when he did that. "And some soup for Emeline, if there's any left."

Myka's head rolled forward and she opened her eyes. "That sounds good, I haven't eaten much lately."

"I know," he said. "I think Penny takes that old adage far too seriously." He ruffled his paper and went back to reading.

Myka chuckled. Andrew's wife, Penelope, believed strongly in old-wives tales and folk medicines. Myka had not bothered trying to correct her belief that a cold could literally be starved into submission. If she were to be honest she did not have much of an appetite, anyway. Still, she liked Penny. The woman was pleasant and kind, and had a way of endearing herself without even trying. Though she was a dead ringer for Olivia de Havilland she was nothing like the characters she portrayed. Her quirky adherence to superstitions and folk beliefs offset the comparison without making her any less likable. If she had any real fault, it was in caring so much for the people around her. In some ways the dainty woman's antics reminded her of Pete who probably would have adored her. Myka could not help but hold her in the same regard. "Penny means well," she said with genuine fondness from the heart.

"That she does," Andrew's voice smiled. "Sometimes I think she may just be the kindest person in Chicago."

"You're a lucky man," she said and meant it.

"I am indeed," he replied happily.

Myka smiled and laid her head back down until the hot soup and tea arrived. She did not eat much, but what little she did restored enough energy for her to take a hot bath and change into something other than the makeshift set of pajamas she had put together from a silk chemise and knickerbockers. She descended the stairs and made her way to the library where she scanned the shelves until her eye caught on a title. The author's name struck a humorous chord for her and she pulled the book from the shelf while thinking of Helena. She smiled ruefully and made her way back to the now empty living room and sat down to read. Myka opened the cover and flipped to the first page. _It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…_ She had always loved the opening line to _A Tale of Two Cities_. She absentmindedly grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her legs as she curled up and let herself fall into the story.

Twenty minutes later Andrew's servant called to her breaking her from the story. "Miss?"

Myka turned her head gritting her teeth when she saw the curtsey. "Yes, Victoria?"

"Miss Helena Wells to see you, Miss." Myka's heart leapt in her chest. "Shall I see her in?"

"Yes," Myka quickly answered. "Yes, that's fine. Thank you, Victoria." She leaned to place the book on the coffee table as Helena walked into the room. They both smiled their greeting.

"Helena! I'm so glad to see you." Myka's grin made Helena's even bigger.

"And I you," came the reply. "When I didn't see you the other day after our arrangements, I wondered if something had happened." Helena made her way to the sofa and stood near the armrest.

"Oh, God, Helena," Myka had come home the night of the sixth and collapsed into her bed knowing she would feel too badly to do anything for the next few days. She swung her legs down from the sofa and moved to stand. "I'm so sorry. I got sick and –."

"I know," Helena belayed the apology with a simple smile and set herself down next to Myka on the sofa as she placed a folder on the table near Myka's book. "You were clearly not feeling well that morning, and by the end of the day you certainly looked like you were feeling worse off. I can't say I was entirely surprised when you failed to keep our appointment." She laid her coat over the arm of the sofa and turned toward Myka as she spoke. "I telegrammed that afternoon and Andrew let me know you weren't well." Helena eyed her carefully. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, much, actually," Myka said letting her brow unfurl.

"Good," Helena said and patted her knee. "I brought some soup by yesterday, but the blasted woman who took it from me wouldn't let me give you any." Helena craned her neck as she scanned the visible areas of the house looking for the offender.

Myka laughed. "That was probably Penny. Andrew's wife." She grinned imagining what that encounter must have been like. She could only imagine how frustrated Helena must have been. "But, thank you for the soup. You really didn't have to do that."

"I know," Helena said. "I just," she fumbled for words. "I wanted to see you." Myka gave her a considering look. _Well that wasn't very clever of you, now was it?_ Her thoughts berated her choice in wording. "What I mean to say," she began again. "Is that I wanted to make sure you were all right." _Better. But not by much. Just stop talking._ She decided to obey her inner-voice and closed her mouth awkwardly.

"Well, it was delicious. I had some just a little while ago." Helena brightened with the news. _She liked it!_ "And, it was really very kind of you to think of me and bring it all the way out here." Myka leaned closer and Helena felt her heart flutter. _Oh, God, what is she doing?_ Her mind raced and she placed her hands on the sofa cushion tightly wrapping her fingers into its fabric trying to stave off the uncharacteristic panic. _Why do I feel like I'm fifteen years old? This is ridiculous, Helena. Get hold of yourself this instant!_ She tried in vain to scold her trepidation into submission. The gripping gave her something to concentrate on besides the shrinking space between them. _Stop. Please stop. If you keep looking at me like that… getting so close… I'm going to want to…"_ She blinked her eyes forcefully refusing to call up any images in her mind while she was still sitting there; she clutched the cushion tighter as if buoying herself in torrential waters. Myka smiled as she moved close enough to lightly brush her thumb over Helena's hand and delicately covered it with her own. "I mean it, Helena. Thank you." The besotted woman's heart ricocheted against her ribs so forcefully she thought it might leap out of her chest. Neither the gentle smile nor the light squeeze Myka gave before letting go helped to calm it. _Just look at her_. _The woman is positively radiant even when she's ill!_

"Oh!" Myka exclaimed as a realization hit her. "I'm so sorry. You've had a long trip out here – would you like something to drink?" She removed her hand and prepared to stand.

"Tea would be lovely," Helena replied with an appreciative smile both for the distance and the offer. _You're not even thirsty, you coward._ She smiled and tried relaxing her grip on the cushion her fingers screaming their protest at having been held so long with such force. The pain was a welcome distraction and she looked down at her hands as she rubbed the afflicted digits.

"Okay, I'll be right back, just a minute." Myka rose from the sofa to find Victoria. Until she decided she was in this place for good, she had no intention of calling out commands to her. Andrew chose that moment to enter the room. He nodded to his cousin as she disappeared around the corner and turned to see Helena sitting in the living space.

"Ah! H.G.! So wonderful to see you again. Thank you again for the soup, it was very thoughtful of you." He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Not at all, Andrew," she said. "I was glad to do it, and it was nice to make the trip."

He guffawed. "Yes, lovely in the pouring rain? I think not," he said as he took a seat in the chair next to the sofa. "Luckily the lake hasn't overflowed, yet. Let us hope this rain gives way before that nightmare occurs."

"Are you still remodeling this fall?" He had told her of their plans to rid themselves of the need for well-water; an overflowing lake would certainly pose a serious problem for his well.

"Yes, thank goodness. We're due for the upgrade this September." He thumbed through the mail he held in his hand as he spoke. "Right now, I wish it were sooner."

"Well, progress is, in many ways, underrated," she said. "Especially here in the countryside where things move so much slower." She loved Andrew's manor and all of its accoutrements, but there were some things about the way of life she did not miss. "You'll become quite attached to the running water once you've had it a while. It was the reason Charles and I decided to summer in the city this year."

"Yes, I imagine so," Andrew said and stopped thumbing through the mail. "Ah! Looks like Emma's Mr. Phelps is eager for their wedding!" He placed a telegram on the table and went back to his mail.

Helena blinked and sat back as she crossed one leg over the other. _That's odd_ , she thought. _It sounded like he just said Emma was getting married. That can't be right. She never mentioned it._ The silence roused Andrew from his mail.

"Didn't she tell you?" Andrew asked taking in her dumbfounded look. "Robert proposed to her last week! And if I know Robert he'll want to hold the wedding before the end of the summer." He tore open a letter and began reading it. "And it's high time those two finally tied the knot, they've known each other since childhood; I can't believe it's taken this long for the engagement." Helena folded her hands in her lap. She struggled to breathe, unable to draw air fully into her lungs, as she stared into nothingness seeing only the particles of dust and filaments deftly floating in the suddenly too-thick atmospheric cloud tunneling her vision.

"Here we are," Myka said as she strode happily into the room carrying a tray. "Oh! Hello Andrew, I've brought some tea." She set the tray on the coffee table.

"Emma, what on earth has gotten into you lately? I keep telling you we have servants for that." He tossed his mail next to the tray and shook his head at her. Reaching for the telegram, he held it up for her. "This came for you today. It's from Robert."

She took it from his hand and slipped it into her pocket without reading it. "Thank you." Helena watched her and felt her stomach churn. Myka sat and smiled at her as she began pouring the tea. She looked over at Helena and spoke. "It's still a little hot, so you should probably let it sit out for a little."

Helena gave in to an overwhelming urge to leave and rose abruptly not knowing what to say. "Actually," she thought her words sounded like someone else speaking into the wind. "I need to hurry back home. I have some… things I forgot I need to do this afternoon." She turned her head to the door and avoided Myka's gaze.

"Oh. Okay," Myka's tone indicated her disappointment. She followed as Helena walked to the door. Helena paused and turned around briefly to look into Myka's questioning eyes.

"I almost forgot to mention, but those children – they were found." Helena gave her a quick glance. "They both came home this morning, none the worse for wear. It's all in the notes." She quickly turned and was gone within moments. Myka watched her as she hurried down the path to the road. She moved far too quickly for there not to be something wrong.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago – 09 May 1893)

 

Helena's stomach growled in angry protest. She ignored it just as she had since the previous afternoon and dressed for bed. It was difficult to even think about food when something so much more important occupied her every thought:

 _She should have told me she was engaged! She owes you no explanations of her life. I know that! Clearly you don't. She didn't have to tell me, I just want to know_ why _she didn't! Why does it matter? Because it does! Yes, but why? I don't know! Yes you do. Oh shut up! I can't, I'm your own mind, remember? Then at least be useful! I'm trying. Try harder! What's the point if you're not going to listen to yourself? What's that supposed to mean? You know what it means. Do I? Yes._

The debate raged in her mind since leaving Emma's house. And although she was finally over the initial stages of anger and frustration she could not shake the thoughts from her head. She crawled under the covers hoping she might fall asleep faster than she had the previous night. Her body felt the strain of her long night as much as her racing mind. Hours later she was still tossing and turning.

_Have you figured it out, yet? Figured what out? You know what. I don't know what you mean. So you say. I don't understand! Then start at the beginning. I've been doing that! Do it again. I don't want to. Then what do you want? I want her to have told me she was engaged! You know now._

She sighed loudly and grabbed fistfuls of her hair as she thought. She replayed the moment of Andrew's declaration to her over and over again trying to un-hear the news as if it were possible to simply wish it away.

_Maybe Andrew misunderstood. Why would you think that? She wasn't wearing an engagement ring. Maybe Robert can't afford one. She shouldn't be engaged to someone who can't afford to marry her! Then whom should she marry? Someone of means. Like? Anyone! Anyone? No. Then whom? I'm changing the subject. To what? Anything else. All right._

She could think of nothing to calm her thoughts and she finally kicked herself free of her blankets and went to work in the basement. She had spent most of her previous evening and all day mixing chemicals and making notations. If lying in bed meant battling her thoughts she would work herself to the point of exhaustion and collapse free of her self-debate. And that is exactly what she did. She worked until the wee hours of the morning before making her way back to her room where she collapsed on top of the covers.

_I'm still here. Leave me alone. As you wish._

Minutes later sleep mercifully overtook her.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 10 May 1893)

 

"Ah, hello! Miss Cigrand, isn't it?" Charles held the door open for her. "Please, come in. I hope your ride wasn't too long, I can't imagine the roads are in very good condition with all this rain." He escorted her toward the sitting area. "Please, make yourself at home. I'll just retrieve my sister. She's in the basement. Won't be a minute!"

"Thank you," Myka said. She sat and looked around thinking of the last time she had been there. It seemed a happier time than now, though she had to admit that being ill might be skewing her perceptions. She rubbed at her arm trying to soothe the dull ache starting in her muscles and elbows sighing when it brought a slight relief. This cold was clearly going to get worse before it got better. She turned when she heard multiple sets of footsteps coming toward the sitting area.

"Charles, I've told you – don't call her that, I won't have it!" Helena sounded severely annoyed.

"But that's her name," he argued back. He held his feline companion in his arms stroking the fur on the back of her neck as he spoke to her in a voice usually reserved for cooing at babies. "Isn't that right Helena?" Myka gave him an odd look. _Did he just call the cat Helena?_ "Yes it is," he continued as his sister rolled her eyes and stalked into the kitchen. "That's right, it's your name isn't it?"

"Sorry," Myka drew out the word trying to make sense of what she had just heard. She turned to Charles at the prospect of the cat's initials. "Are you saying you named your cat _H.G._ Wells?" Charles gave her a conspiratorial wink causing Myka an involuntary laugh.

" _Don't_ encourage him, Emma!" It was not possible for Helena to sound more annoyed as her voice carried from the kitchen. "That _thing_ does _not_ bear my name!" There was a pause before they both heard her slam a drawer followed by an accusing epilogue. "Destructive thieving little _cretin_!"

Myka pulled her lips between her teeth trying with all her might not to make matters worse by laughing again. She did not know which was funnier – Charles' purposeful attempt to antagonize his sister or the fact that he had been so successful with it. He set the cat on the ground and she scampered off. "Don't listen to her Mrs. Godswine! She's honored to have you as her namesake!" He called out loud enough for Helena to hear him from the kitchen as he followed good-naturedly behind his furry little friend.

Another drawer slammed in the kitchen and Myka turned to look while hiding her smile. Helena stalked toward her with a tray of tea. "There is no possible way we are related," she huffed as she sat the tray on the table and fell into the sofa. She looked at Myka and narrowed her eyes at the crooked smile she saw on her lips. "Think it's funny, do you?"

"What? Me?" Myka shook her head vigorously. "Definitely not. There is absolutely nothing even _remotely_ humorous about it." The two women stared at one another just long enough to make it impossible for Myka to contain herself. Helena wanted to rage with indignation, but the sight of the other woman doubled over with laughter drained the desire away and all she could do was roll her eyes and shake her head. For some reason this heightened the comedic moment for both women and Helena found herself starting to giggle along with her guest.

 _You like it when she laughs. So? What do you think that means? Nothing – who doesn't like it when someone laughs? Who likes it the way you like_ her _laugh? Stop reading into things! Technically, you did that._

She grimaced and shut the thoughts away. She wanted anything but to do that in front of Emma; it was already hard enough just being in the same room with her at the moment. When Charles had informed her Emma was upstairs she nearly had him send her away, but when he turned to leave she realized that was not what she wanted. Not really. It was just poor timing on Mrs. Godswine's part to be in sight when she came up the stairwell. An innocent victim of her roiling emotions. She watched Emma wipe at her eyes, tears from too much laughter, and she smiled. _God, she is just so wonderful. You could tell her that. I don't think so. Why not? Ugh, don't do this to me right now!_ She stopped listening to her inner-dialogue and turned to the tray she set on the table.

"Are you hungry? I've cut some apples for us, or I've made some cake if you'd prefer?" She lifted the teapot and poured two cups.

"Thank you, but no, I'm not hungry." Myka's appetite had still not returned. "I'll take the tea, though! That ride out here was chilly."

Helena examined her expeditiously. Her eyes quickly darted over her frame. Sluggish. Her eyes. Slightly sunken. Her skin tone. Sallow and damp. "You're still feeling poorly." It was not a question.

"Mmm," Myka murmured. She swallowed the warm tea and felt it travel down her body. "It's nothing, I'll be better soon."

"Emma," Helena's reproachful tone brought Myka's eyes to hers. "Why exactly are you here? If you're still not feeling well the last thing you should be doing is running about in this weather!" She rose from her seat and walked to the chaise near the wall of books by the fireplace. She returned with a light blanket and draped it over Myka's shoulders before she sat back down.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Myka said. She picked up the folder Helena had brought to her house. "I read through your notes and I wanted to ask you a few questions." She wiped her forehead with the back of her coat-sleeve and opened the folder. "It says here you talked with the children and they both said they'd been at the Expo's grounds the entire time." She looked up.

"That's right," Helena replied reaching for her tea. "I'm not entirely sure I believe them, however. Although they both seemed genuinely frightened, there were gaps. Unfortunately, they insisted on their stories and their parents refused to let me question them further."

"What do you think they were frightened about?" It was one of her main questions. Helena did not record any of her speculations, and Myka knew she probably had many.

"Well, I did believe them when they said they could not recall how they'd come to leave their mothers. The girl insisted she never left – I mean she _really_ insisted; she was absolutely convinced she had been standing by the Ferris Wheel one moment and then near an exhibit clear across the Exposition's grounds the next. The boy said he felt like he had to go back to the store. I asked him why, but he could only say he had no choice. It sounded like a near compulsion by the way he described it. And it was from those points I suspect they fabricated the rest of their stories." Helena sipped from her cup. "And if you ask me I think they were told what to say for at least part of their explanations."

"Their stories are similar, I wouldn't doubt it," Myka said thoughtfully.

"Well, I did learn the boy never said he'd seen the girl in a house _behind_ the store. He said in the house _by_ the store. It is my sincere belief he meant to indicate the adjoining building. The hotel."

Myka thought for a moment then flipped a page in the folder. "They both said they'd been at the candy store the same days they went missing. With so many people on that street, they easily could have walked right next door without being noticed." Helena nodded and took another sip. "Did they have any other similarities from before the missing period of time?"

"Yes," She said. She did not like being questioned about things she had already written in her notes. "They both said their mothers had gone into the store with them where they made their purchases. They both complained they couldn't open the bag they were handed and that they had to force it open in order to get to their candy. I wrote this all down already – including the fact that they both still had their bags of candy when they were found – something I find to be exceedingly odd."

"I agree. Okay, bear with me." Myka referred to the notes. . "You said the mothers still had the bags."

"Yes," came the flat reply. She raised her cup again to take a sip. "Where are you going with all this?"

"I'm not sure," Myka looked at her directly. "Did you actually examine the bags? Did you notice anything about them? Anything unusual?"

Helena paused, cup in mid-air, as she pondered the question. She had examined the bags, but she had only given them a cursory examination. Myka watched as the far-away look of concentration stole over Helena's face. She smiled to herself thinking how much she enjoyed watching the artisan's mind at work. Helena shut her eyes and replayed the moments when she held each bag. One contained taffy, the other toffee. Nothing unusual about the contents. The bags themselves? Plain. Brown. Paper. Store logo imprinted on the front. Nothing out of the ordinary. She replayed the moment again. Nothing. She reached back further in her mind and played the images of the bags against those from the store when she had visited it with Emma. She pulled at an image of one of the patrons walking out of the store, folded bag in her hand logo on the front. Child following and impatiently begging for the candy. Wait. There was something. She zeroed in on the mother's hand. Why hadn't she noticed this before? Her eyes flew open.

"The bags were sealed." It had been so long since she had bought candy in such quantity it had not occurred to her whether the practice might be out of place. "When we were in the store the clerk handed folded bags to his customers. Not sealed."

"What were they sealed with?" Myka's senses were at high alert despite the sluggish feeling in her head. She was never more out of sorts when trying to work a case while ill. She wiped at her forehead again.

"Ribbon," said Helena. "Very fine ribbon. Same color, pink." She closed her eyes again and opened them moments later. "They were cut open, not untied."

"That's unusual," said Myka. She glanced back at the notes. "You said both children opened their bags, not their mothers."

"That's right." Helena thought about the implication. "I would never let Christina handle a sharp object, even at the age of 8 or 10 like Amelia and Christopher. But what has any of that to do with their missing time?"

"Maybe nothing," Myka said and pulled the blanket from her shoulder. "Maybe everything. I'm not sure, but I think I'd like to visit the candy store again." She rose from her seat and waited for Helena who rose and followed into step behind her. They neared the front door before it occurred to Myka the history she already knew. They were about to possibly confront a very dangerous man. "Helena, do you have any weapons here?"

"Weapons?" Helena's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Whatever for?"

"Just in case," Myka said. The request must have sounded unusual. "Considering the missing people and the suspicious circumstances, I'd rather we didn't go unarmed. Don't worry. It'll be a last resort."

Helena eyed her carefully. "Charles keeps a revolver in the top desk drawer," she said nodding her head to indicate the desk behind Myka. Myka turned and opened the drawer where she found the small revolver nestled in a drawer under some papers. "I'm not sure if it's loaded," she said. "I don't think he's ever even used it." Myka lifted it out and checked the safety to ensure it was on before deftly flipping open the cylinder. It was loaded. Six bullets. She flicked her wrist and the cylinder snapped shut. Helena watched her disapprovingly. "Guns only beget violence," she said. "And I deplore it. There are other ways to subdue a person if self-defense becomes necessary. I will not use that weapon."

Myka raised the gun and to just below her eye-level and checked for balance as she familiarized herself with the feel of it. Helena, despite her feelings on guns, could not help but admire the vision before her. Jaw set. Eyes focused and unyielding. Shoulders square. Feet firmly planted. Emma looked like a very capable woman. "While you seem rather adept with that, you won't find me using a gun. Ever."

Myka raised it to eye-level and swung around toward the light as she aimed the revolver against the wall. She looked directly down the barrel of the gun to the small sight at the tip as she spoke. "I, on the other hand, have no problem shooting one."

Helena arched an eyebrow and watched Emma's image in the mirror. The smile faded from her lips and she turned her head stepping forward to turn Emma around.

"What?" Myka asked when she saw the look of concern in her eyes.

"Emma," Helena said reaching for a handkerchief from one of the drawers on the desk. "Your nose is bleeding."

"Second time today," Myka said thanking her for the handkerchief and depositing the revolver in the pocket of her coat. She tilted her head back and applied pressure to the bridge of her nose.

Helena noticed the beads of moisture on her forehead and reached up with the back of her hand feeling for an indication of her temperature. "Emma, you've got a fever. I don't think you should be going anywhere but back to bed."

"I'm fine," Myka replied. "I'll go back to bed and stay there as soon as we finish at the store." Helena gave her a look that said she had better keep to her word. When they were sure the nosebleed was finished they walked to the taxi-stand and hailed a carriage to the candy store.


	13. False Expectations

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Thirteen, False Expectations

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"There's really nothing I have to say to you, so you might as well just keep on walking." Pete slid his hand through the air dismissively in keeping with his statement. He had no desire to hear yet another apology from the only person on the Warehouse team with whom he did not wish to associate. Helena looked at him, contemplating what she might possibly be able to say to get him to relent, but thought better of it and stuffed her hands in her pockets as she turned away. She would try again when he was being less passive-aggressive, but she added his treatment of her to a growing list of worries.

Pete propped his feet up on the stool near his feet and relaxed into the comfortable chair in Leena's living room as he placed his comic book in his lap. He was glad Helena left. As it was, it had only been fairly recently he found a way to reluctantly move beyond the not-so-long-ago actions taken by his partner's criminally insane friend. But that was when he accepted Myka's reasoning for Helena's actions – that they had been driven by an emotional pain neither of them could ever comprehend. He wanted to believe Myka was right so he decided to take a leap of faith – based on nothing more than his unwavering devotion borne from the friendship with his partner, he took her word for it. And then he went to 1898.

The Helena Wells of 1898 had not yet lost her daughter to the cruel and vicious actions of violent strangers. The Helena Wells of that time was not lost in grief. She mourned no one of significance. No, there was no excuse this time. No apology that could make a difference. Helena Wells had always been an imbalanced sociopath and he wanted no part of her. Not now and not ever again.

"Dude, are you still being an ass to H.G.?" Claudia walked into the room and hooked her thumb over her shoulder. She had just passed Helena in the hallway and was coming to recognize the look on her face as one she wore whenever she was upset because of something Pete had said or done.

"Give it a rest, Claud." He opened the comic book and tried to start reading. He did not feel like getting into another round of the young agent's interjections on the matter.

"No, _you_ give it a rest!" The vehemence in her voice shocked him into looking up.

She planted her feet and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Seriously, dude, it's really not cool! Whatever H.G. did… it's in the past. Give her a break! She made her choices and maybe we don't like them, but they weren't ours to make."

"No, they weren't ours to make," Pete countered. "But if they were, do you really think any of us would have decided to _destroy_ the world? C'mon Claud, you know better than that."

Claudia bit her lip. She knew she could not defend Helena's choice. She just wished he would stop fixating on things that she did not think were relevant anymore. "Just figure out a way to get over it, Pete, because she works here, too, y'know?"

Pete closed his comic book and stood up. "No, I don't need to find a way to get over it. And H.G. won't be working here for long – not if _I_ have anything to say about it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She did not like the defiant look on his face nor the ominous implication of his statement.

"I'm going to talk to Artie about re-bronzing her," he said. "She never should have been allowed back at the Warehouse. He was right all along."

Claudia's mouth fell open in disbelief. "Artie? Re-bronze H.G.? Dude, Artie is the one fighting to keep her on as an agent." She could not believe what he had just said to her. "He'll never go for it, and you know it – not after what she did to help save the Warehouse."

"Then I'll talk to the Regents!" Pete raised his voice in frustration. He could not understand why he was the only one who could clearly see the psychotic woman for who she really was.

"Oh come on!" Claudia's patience with his bull-headed attitude was beginning to reach its limit. "Why can't you just leave her alone? What's it matter at this point what she did or didn't do over a _hundred_ years ago?"

Pete threw his hands up.  The exchange was starting to upset him. "How can you even say that?" He waved his hands around in the air as he spoke. "Why does everyone keep discounting what that women did just last year? Why am I the only one who hasn't forgotten it?"

"That's the point!" She put her hands on her hips. "It's what she _did_. It's not what she's doing _now_." She emphasized her words. "As in it's all past tense. It's not who she is _present_ tense!"

Pete gave up. "People don't change, Claudia," he said as he walked toward the stairwell. He needed to find someplace where he could be left to his own thoughts. "They are always who they are. They don't go from being an upstanding worthwhile individual to something else unless that's who they were all along. It doesn't matter what happens to them – they're only going to ever be who they really always were. That's how it works." He walked upstairs and into his room without another word. Claudia watched him go and shook her head wishing more than ever that Myka was back. She was the only one who could ever talk sense to him when he got like this.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, 10 May 1893)

 

Helena bit her bottom lip and observed Emma as she carefully considered her appearance. She did not like the way she looked and was certain the newly improved weather could not hold out much longer. The last thing anyone as sick as Emma needed was more exposure to the elements. Her third nosebleed occurred in the carriage on their way to the store, but that had been brought on by coughing and appeared to finally have stopped. She watched as Emma took the red-stained handkerchief from her nose and brought her head back to a normal position.

"I think it's better now." Myka crumpled the well-used cloth and stuffed it in her coat pocket. It was bad enough to feel every bump in the road on the way to the store, to have it punctuated with a bloody nose was just adding insult to injury as far as Myka was concerned. "I'm really getting tired of that. It used to happen a lot when I had a bad cough as a kid, but it hasn't been this bad in years."

"Honestly, Emma, I really think we should go." Concern laced Helena's voice. She had seen enough to know they had no business being here. "It's not just your cough, you've got a fever and you look like hell. You don't need to be here. Let me take you home? I can come back later by myself."

Myka considered the offer seriously. She knew she had no business being out of bed, she felt sicker than she had in many years, and it was getting worse. Even with the sun's warmth on her she shivered from the cold; she definitely needed to make this outing a short one. Getting back into bed seemed a more attractive prospect by the minute. She eyed the busy entrance of the candy store before looking across the street to the pharmacy. "Tell you what," she said. "Let's just take a look inside and see what there is. You can even do your ridiculous observational thing." She grinned in admiration of Helena's acute attention to detail. "Just a few minutes then we can go. Deal?"

Helena shifted her weight while giving her a considering look. "I'm not even sure what it is we're looking for."

"I know," Myka answered. "I'm not sure either, but if those kids did feel compelled to return here…" She looked at the store thinking of the artifact she knew was tied to the building's owner. "Then something inside here had something to do with it." She was unsure of how much she should reveal. Some part of her wanted never to bring her into contact with Dr. Holmes or to alert her to the existence of artifacts. She knew the future awaiting the woman, but there were also hundreds of innocent lives at stake. For all she knew, the choices they made today were what kept that number from being thousands. Then she remembered Helena had said she recovered the blades used in Holmes' crimes and she brightened. This was the case that made her an agent. "Listen, Helena," she looked her in the eye. "This man, Dr. Holmes, I know he's up to something and we need to stop him."

"Stop him from what?" Helena looked toward the candy store with renewed interest.

"From hurting people. He's behind whatever happened to those kids. I just know it." She hoped it would be enough but the look on Helena's face told her otherwise. Myka took in a deep breath to speak but another coughing fit fell upon her. When she recovered she felt as if she had just run a marathon and let herself lean against the wall for support.

"Emma…" Helena reached her hand to Myka's head again. "Your fever. It's worsened."

 _Damn it_ , Myka thought. _I really need to do this._ She looked again at the store. _But, Helena's right. I need to get back to bed and give myself another day or two and get better so I can give the investigation everything it deserves._ "Okay. Okay. You win." She lifted herself from the wall despite still feeling winded. "Why don't you just go in and see what you can, we can talk about it on the way back. I'm going to go over to the pharmacy and get something for this cold."

"I'll go with you," Helena said and turned toward the street.

"No, Helena, please." Myka needed at least one of them to go into the store, and it made more sense for it to be the one with the nearly eidetic memory. "Just trust me on this. Look around the store, watch for anything unusual or out of place. Memorize every detail. I'll only be a few minutes, and then we can leave."

Helena did not like the idea of prolonging Emma's exposure and considered the acquiescence to be a small victory. She was fairly certain there was going to be no point in visiting the candy store. The pharmacy would be the only worthwhile stop, and the quicker they could conclude their business in both the locations the better it would be. "Fine," she said. "But don't take too long."

"I won't," Myka said attempting to smile. She turned to cross the street and Helena headed for the store.

A woman's cheerful voice called out as Myka jangled a bell when she opened the door to the pharmacy. "Good afternoon, Miss! How can we help you today?" She was an elderly woman with soft brown eyes and an infectious smile. She stood behind the counter at the rear of the store and Myka made her way through the aisles. She recognized none of the brand names of the various products lining the shelves. The surrealness of the reminder she was not from this time was only intensified by the grogginess in her head.

Myka walked toward the counter and addressed the smiling wrinkled face. "Hi. Yes, I'm not feeling so well. I'm looking for something for a cold – maybe something for a fever and a cough?" She had no idea what the people of this period used for common colds, but at this point she was willing to try just about anything.

"It seems to be going around," the woman said. "You're probably the third person in as many days come in here looking so sickly." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "What with all this rain I'm sure there will be more before the end." Myka coughed harshly and took a seat near the counter. The tightness in her chest seemed a constant sensation since this morning and she wished it would go away. The coughing was worse than the body aches and fever combined and each fit seemed to take more and more out of her. "Oh, my." The woman clucked her tongue again. "That sounds simply _awful_. You just wait right there, you poor dear. The Doctor's just making a fresh batch of Sydenham's Tincture, I'll go see if he's finished."

A few minutes later the jangle of the door's bell could be heard, but Myka ignored it until she heard the familiar voice. "Emma?" She turned to see Helena as she walked through the entrance. Somehow, despite how badly she felt, just knowing Helena was near lifted her spirits.

"Over here, Helena." Myka felt weak and her voice reflected it, but she managed to make herself heard. Helena's head turned toward her as she called and Myka watched her make her way through the aisles. She quickly arrived at the counter and took a seat next to Myka who questioned her. "Did you find anything?"

Helena shook her head. "How are you feeling?" She placed a hand on Myka's forehead and frowned. Her fever was getting higher.

"Not so well," Myka answered truthfully. "I'm just suddenly… exhausted." She coughed once and grimaced trying to force herself not to continue. It did not have the desired effect, though she did manage to keep from erupting into a major fit. Worry creased Helena's forehead and she placed her hand on Myka's back. The warmth from Myka's fever radiated through her clothing and it deepened the concern on Helena's face.

"Nothing? You didn't find anything?" Myka looked disappointed.

"Nothing appeared out of place, if that's what you mean." Helena recounted what little she witnessed. "Unless you want to consider the mismatched pair of earrings one woman wore, or the fact that there were at least three distinct children in there who clearly spent too much time playing in the rainwater yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Myka looked at her with confusion. "How can you tell they played in the water yesterday?"

"Because they were wearing the same clothes, obviously." Myka shook her head unsure of what she had missed. Helena spotted the continued confusion and sighed. "They had a mixture of –"

"Miss Cigrand?" The question cut off her words and brought both sets of eyes up to meet those of Dr. Holmes. "I thought that was your voice I heard out here!" He smiled broadly, clearly pleased to see her, and placed a bottle on the counter. Helena stood at his greeting and watched as he lifted a long-handled fine scalpel as well as a spool of pink ribbon from beneath the counter. _Same ribbon as from the store,_ Helena noted as he quickly cut a length. _You're looking at the ribbon? Just noticing it was the same. There are more interesting things to look at than the ribbon. Quiet!_ He placed the ribbon back in its place and laid the scalpel on the counter. He looked at Myka as he reached for a bag. "What a shame… a pretty girl like you shouldn't feel so poorly."

Helena said nothing, but her mind screamed. _What a right bastard he his! Quiet! You heard what he said! So? He thinks ugly girls deserve to feel sick._ _That's not what he said. Close enough! Stop yelling. Then tell him what you're thinking! Not right now. Why not? Because. Oh, I see – you're still trying to impress your girlfriend, is that it? No. No, you're not trying to impress her or no, she's not your girlfriend? SHUT IT!_

"Is it ready?" Myka rose from her chair slowly and eyed the bottle on the counter. She felt light-headed and just wanted to hurry home to crawl into bed and sleep.

"Yes, yes it is. Just give me a moment to wrap it up." Dr. Holmes reached for a bag.

"No, that's okay, thank you." Myka picked up the bottle. She did not need a bag and did not want one. All she wanted was to feel better. "How much do I take?" She asked as she started coughing again.

Dr. Holmes' left eye twitched in irritation. "Two spoonfuls. Best not to try drinking it straight from the bottle or you'll take too much." Helena watched him as he picked up the scalpel again and unfastened the strange clasp. The blade came loose and he set it on the counter as he attached a small rounded spoon to the end of the handle. "Here, use this." He held it out toward Myka.

She looked at the bottle in her left hand and read from the front label. "Tincture of Opium?"

"Laudanum," Helena said pulling her eyes from the make-shift utensil to turn back to the discarded blade on the countertop. She spoke while examining its unusual monogram. "It probably won't do much for your cold, but it should quiet the cough." Myka nodded taking the spoon from the pharmacist's hand without looking. She turned the bottle in her left hand trying to read the back, but fell into a violent bout of coughing.  Two red drops splashed across the small brown bottle's lettering. As she tried to gain control of herself she thought she saw a faint flash of light in her right hand. She turned to look at the spoon the Doctor had handed her attempting to understand why it looked so familiar.  The fog in her head and the burning in her lungs would not allow the memory to surface.

Helena turned to her just in time to react as Myka's body fell to the ground. She cradled Myka's head staring helplessly into the unconscious woman's face as a thin line of blood trickled from her nose.


	14. Developments

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Fourteen, Developments

 

(Chicago, 11 May 1893)

 

Helena lay in her bed staring at the wall. She had telegrammed Andrew, twice, hoping to hear Emma was improving, but she was not. The last update she received told her the fever and cough had worsened and Emma spent nearly every moment in bed. The myriad of differing possibilities ran through Helena's mind. She was no doctor, but she knew enough to know whatever was wrong with Emma, it was not going to turn out to have a simple treatment – if there even was a treatment. She shut her eyes against the images of Emma's listless body. She had seen a dying woman once, and it made her blood run cold to think how similarly Emma looked when she last saw her.

_Don't say that. Say what? That she's dying. I didn't say it. Well don't think it! Aren't you the one thinking it? She can't die. You know better. She can recover. Can she? She has to. Why? Because she just has to. She might not. You don't know that. No, but you do._

And she did know. She knew the only chance Emma stood was to find a quick and effective treatment against whatever ravaged her body. It had to work fast enough to give her the time her body needed to heal, and Helena worried that as fast as the illness was progressing they might not find it in time. She racked her brain for any grain of hope stored away from years of her research into biology and human physiology. Nothing.

_I'm not a doctor, what do I know? You know enough. I don't know how to help her. No, but you know someone who can. Who? Magnus._

Dr. Helen Magnus. There was no finer medical mind and she felt herself relax with the knowledge Magnus was fortuitously in the city for the summer. If there was any doctor she trusted to be able to diagnose and treat such an aggressive-moving contagion it would be she. She resolved to make her way to Magnus' residence first thing in the morning.

 

* * *

(Dwight, IL – 12 May 1893)

 

"How long was she unconscious, Wells?" The question roused Helena from her thoughts.

"I don't know, Magnus." Helena shook her head trying to dislodge the difficult image from her mind. "Not long, maybe a minute. We had to use smelling salts to awaken her." They made the last turn before Andrew's home and she knew they were nearly there. It seemed the longest trip she had ever taken so severe was the dread in her mind. "Do you think you can help her?"

Magnus considered Helena before answering. "I think, based on the symptoms you've relayed, that she is a very sick girl." She paused and looked at Helena's brow as it knit together. "It could be any number of infectious agents, I'm afraid. With the sudden onset it's hard to say exactly what it might be. I'll know more after I examine her." Magnus went through the variety of conditions she knew could result in the sort of symptoms Helena had described. None were heartening, and the sooner she could diagnose and begin treatment, the better the prognosis would become. There was only one symptom that seriously concerned her, however, and she hesitated to alert the already troubled woman sitting across from her. She wondered if she could glean information without worrying her further.

The carriage hit a hole in the road and Helena braced herself for the jarring impact, but it never came. The large well-padded town coach absorbed the shock well. It brought a sigh of relief from Helena who liked the finery associated with Magnus' personal carriage. As long as she had known the woman there were two areas where she knew her to consistently splurge – her domiciles and her transportation. Indeed, the personal carriage was one of the finest Helena had ever seen. Roomier and geared toward luxury, as opposed to the standard hansom, it provided much better comfort and true protection from the elements. Even as the rain beat loudly against the hard-top the outside wind could neither be felt nor heard. Helena was grateful for its absence inside the carriage. It had made their conversation easier. She sat wondering what it was Magnus was withholding. They had been friends long enough for her to know when the doctor had something on her mind, and had seen how she "handled" the friends and families of patients who were seriously ill. She knew she was watching her do it now, and it only made her feel worse. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Magnus?" She looked into the woman's large compassionate blue eyes. "How bad is it? Truthfully."

Magnus knew better than to answer the question directly. Most of the symptoms pointed her in the direction of a bronchitis, influenza, or pneumonia diagnosis. Each were treatable. There was a remote possibility of cholera infection, but the two most significant symptoms of that disease had not yet presented. She could not rule it out, entirely, but she considered it a less likely culprit and knew it had a good prognosis with proper treatment. The one that worried her the most was the one to which she could tie all the symptoms, including the nosebleed. There was no treatment for it, and it had an alarmingly high mortality rate. Worse, it was the same disease that had ravaged the Chicago area no less than two years previously resulting in the loss of nearly ten thousand lives. Still, Magnus knew the one true symptom was one that had not been mentioned. "Did you happen to notice her body when you helped change her clothes?"

Helena's eyebrows flew up. "What? Why would you ask me that? _Why is she asking me that? Maybe she knows. I don't care if she knows. And this bothers you? No! Then why are you panicking? I DON'T KNOW!_

Magnus watched with curiosity as her colleague floundered. She had clearly taken the question the wrong way, and the blush spreading across the woman's face helped explain the defensive response. It had never occurred to her that her friend of so many years might be attracted to women. In thinking it through, she decided, the idea was not entirely surprising. After all, Helena was most definitely the kind of woman whose very being often flew in the face of societal conventions. Having such proclivities would certainly not be inconsistent with her level of personal openness. Even still, Magnus wondered why her friend had never mentioned it to her. "Did you notice if she had a rash of any sort? On her stomach area especially."

"Oh," Helena blinked and her panic faded. "No, I didn't notice anything like that. But I wasn't exactly looking." _It was the perfect opportunity, you know. She's sick! What's that got to do with just looking? Everything! So you would have looked if she wasn't sick? I didn't say that. You didn't not say it._ She closed her eyes pushing her thoughts away. She seemed to be doing that a lot, lately, and she wished she could make the internal struggles stop. While she had helped get Emma changed from her clothes into proper attire for bed, she chose to uncharacteristically avert her eyes. She had not questioned the action until Magnus' inquiry.

Magnus noticed the blush rise again on her friend's face. There was no doubt in her mind as to her companion's feelings. She wondered if the same was true for their owner, but as the coach rolled to a stop indicating their arrival, she bookmarked the discussion for a later time.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 12 May 1893)

"Well this is a surprise." Nikola held open the door to let his friend enter the room. James Watson did not look like a happy man. "What's wrong, James, you look like a horse just ran over your dog."

"I don't have a dog, Nikola, and what's wrong is that we have a problem." He turned to face him and his eyes showed a fierceness Nikola was unaccustomed to seeing. "A very serious problem."

"By all means, let's put a damper on the already damp day, shall we?" Nikola closed the door and hung Watson's coat near the door. The two men walked into the living space where they took seats opposite each other from the roaring fire. Nikola observed his friend closely and wondered what could have placed such intensity in his expression. The normally sharp eyes were unfocused and his face, so full of concentration, appeared more deeply lined than usual. The corners of his mouth disappeared sternly into his well-manicured beard as he stared into the fire.

"I fear the The Ripper may be here, Nikola." Watson's tone was beyond ominous. "And if he is, he may be up to his old habits." He spoke without breaking his gaze. Jack the Ripper being active again meant his worst nightmare had come true, and he felt himself shiver with the weight of the responsibility he felt for what might lay ahead.

Nikola tensed at the mention of the name. James was not one to frazzle easily and it gave Nikola pause to see him so disturbed. He carefully studied his friend's countenance. Reflections from the fireplace licked at Watson's pupils seeming to illustrate whatever grizzly hell played in the recesses of his mind. The case had always haunted Watson proving to be the one and only investigation where he had been unable to identify a culprit. The number of lives lost, both known and unknown, had weighed on him ever since. "I haven't heard any horror stories regarding the Unfortunates here. What makes you think he's here?"

"H.G. came to see Helen this morning. I was there. It appears she and another… _woman_ ," he emphasized the word, "have been investigating the disappearance of some women and children."

"Children?" Nikola raised his eyebrows. "Since when has the Ripper taken to children?"

"Never," answered Watson continuing to look into the fireplace. "The children returned safely, the women have not."

"You and I both know what she thinks about the Ripper, James." Nikola watched as Watson bridled. "And I haven't seen… _him_ here. I haven't seen him since Whitechapel."

"I know," Watson steepled his fingers together and pressed them to his chin as he thought. "But that isn't important. H.G. might have been right about the possibility of multiple killers, but she was wrong about John. As much as he's changed, he would never harm another soul. You know that as well as I." He said it with such absolute finality that Nikola did not bother reminding him of how accurate Helena's observations had been. "Still, she may be right about the Ripper being in Chicago."

"What makes you say that?" Nikola thought back to the many conversations he had with Helen Magnus. According to her H.G. had been able to so precisely describe their mutual friend that she was even able to predict the smallest of his behaviors despite having never met him. The arguments it set off between the two great minds resulted in an inability for them to ever fully come to friendship, a crime of its own right to Nikola's mind. If H.G.'s powers of deduction were as strong as Magnus claimed, he could not help but wonder if they should have listened to her.

"She found Helen's lost engagement present." Watson leaned back in his chair and turned to face his companion. "The same one described by so many of the suspected killers from Whitechapel." He looked thoughtful as he continued. "It means nothing other than if it is indeed Helen's, the Ripper may have decided to do as he did once before and is making a new protégé."

Nikola poured himself a glass of wine and silently offered some to his guest who declined with a slight shake of his head. "The scalpel set? How on earth would H.G. have known about that?" The engagement had happened, and been broken, nearly fifteen years previous.

"She didn't," said Watson. "But how many doctors do you know with monogrammed blades?"

Nikola sipped his wine slowly. He knew of only one, and it had been given as a ceremonial gift meant to commemorate both her graduation from medical school as well as her engagement to John Druitt. "It bears the monogram?"

"H.M." It was the only response the great thinker provided to the question.

 

* * *

 

(Dwight, IL – 12 May 1893)

 

"Magnus, I'd like to introduce you to a dear friend, Andrew Cigrand, Esquire. Emma's cousin." Helena smiled as the two shook hands.

"A pleasure, Dr. Magnus," Andrew greeted her with a smile and a bow. "Thank you for coming, but we already have a doctor with Emma. He's upstairs with her now. Second door on the left if you'd like to speak with him."

"Excellent," said Magnus. "I'll go up to talk with him in a moment. Do you have time to go over a few questions with me?" She wanted to ask about any possible exposures Emma may have had to help narrow down the diagnosis. "I'll confer with the other doctor when we're finished."

"Certainly," said Andrew as he led them into the living space. Helena took her leave excusing herself so she could check on Emma. She walked upstairs and entered the second room on the left per Andrew's directions. Mrs. Cigrand stood in a corner wringing her hands while the doctor listened through a stethoscope at his patient's chest. The smell of candle wax filled her senses and she noted, for the second time, the lack of technological advancement in the home. She let her eyes adjust to the dimly lit room and watched as the doctor finished his examination. When he stood, Helena gasped. The sickly woman's entire body appeared to be soaked in sweat, her hair lay matted against her head, and her face was overly flush with fever. Helena rushed to her bedside as the doctor updated Andrew's wife.

"I'm afraid she's gotten worse, Penny." His voice was low as he spoke. "The fever continues, and I believe fluid is starting to fill the lungs. Whatever she has, it's progressing quickly." He fumbled through his bag as Mrs. Cigrand looked on.

"Ms. Wells, so good of you to come," she addressed Helena who looked up briefly acknowledging the salutation with a small smile. Helena reached out pushing the hair from Myka's forehead and wincing at the feel of her temperature. Myka's eyes fluttered open at her touch.

"Helena," Myka's voice was extremely weak, but she managed a smile. "Where have you been? I've missed you." She reached out and took Helena by the hand as she closed her eyes again. Helena watched her fall back into sleep and gently removed her hand from Emma's limp grasp.

"When's the last time she ate something?" Helena addressed the doctor and Mrs. Cigrand after spying the uneaten tray of meat and vegetables atop the nearby nightstand.She evaluated the patient and decided Emma's skin appeared pasty and sallow, her eyes sunken, and her cheeks hollow. She had clearly not been receiving enough nourishment.

"She hasn't eaten anything today," said Penny. "Once we realized she had a fever we tried giving her everything, but she hasn't been able to keep anything down since you brought her home." Helena grimaced. _She hasn't eaten in three days? These people are quacks! This is her family. Then her family is full of quacks! Stop it!_

The doctor lifted a bottle from his bag and returned to Emma's bedside. Helena made room for him and watched as he began metering out a dose. He was of average height and slightly built with a larger than normal head so that the candlelight reflecting from his bald scalp made him appear a hastily drawn figure in a newspaper cartoon. "Penny, I'm going to leave this bottle with you. Be sure to give her two tablespoons every hour."

Penny nodded and the curls in her bun slipped out and bobbled ridiculously with her movement. "Should I give it to her with food or should I stop trying to feed the fever?" Helena's face contorted. _Don't say it. She's absurd! Emma's not keeping anything down, anyway. She'll never get the chance with that preposterous woman refusing to feed her something she can hold!_

"Either way is fine," the doctor said. Helena wanted to scream at him for not pressing the importance of keeping Emma nourished. "Just be sure to give her water every few hours."

 _Bollocks!_ "No," said Helena unable to contain herself any further. _It's about time you spoke up. Shut up._

"Sorry?" The doctor looked up at her. He was clearly not used to being questioned.

"If she's been vomiting, then she needs more than just plain water." She addressed Penny making no attempt to conceal the irritation in her voice. "Mrs. Cigrand, you will please bring a glass, a spoon, and a litre of water – into which you must mix no more and no less than one-half teaspoon of salt along with six teaspoons of sugar." She glanced at Emma's overly-dehydrated body and amended her command. "Make sure those proportions are exact." _She's going to need more than that. I know, but this is a start._

The doctor guffawed trying to belay her request. "Now see here, Miss! I am Miss Cigrand's doctor, and I do not recommend such a mixture." He pulled himself up with indignation. "What this girl needs is clean water and rest." He held up the bottle in his hand. "And a dose of this mineral water every hour should have her up on her feet within a few days."

Helena's entire face contorted. "You _cannot_ be serious!" She exclaimed and her voice rose. " _Mineral water_? What in bloody hell do you think _that_ is going to do for her?"

"Oh yes, dear," Penny said nodding her head sending her curls bouncing again. "Apparently it cures even the worst bouts of cholera." The doctor grunted his approval and turned to pick up a spoon as he began administering the dose.

Helena blinked twice and grabbed the doctor by the shoulders. " _OUT!_ " She yelled. " _GET OUT RIGHT THIS INSTANT!_ "

Myka's eyes opened again and she looked up to see Helena bodily escorting the doctor from the room with Penny following nervously behind. "Helena?" She tried sitting up and began coughing.

"AND DON'T COME BACK!" Helena shouted at his back and slammed the door shut behind them. She muttered "Incompetent fool!" under her breath as she made her way back to Emma's bedside.

"What's wrong?" Myka grimaced and lay back against the pillow. She coughed again and grasped at her chest heaving as she struggled for air.

"Nothing," Helena lied. Myka reached over and took her hand again melting the anger from Helena's voice. "You're fine, darling. Just rest. I'm going to fix you something to drink, and see if we can get some warm cereal in you. You're going to be fine." She stroked Myka's face wiping the sweat from her eyes and watched her fall asleep again.

Minutes later she reached for a bowl of water and washcloth she saw on the nightstand. She dipped the cloth into the cool water and carefully wrung it out before using it to dab at Myka's face. Her eyes fluttered open again with the water's contact against her brow. "I'm glad you're here," Myka said. She smiled up at Helena who looked down into the face of pure love. The moment hung between them until Helena found herself drawn in by touch of the woman's hand upon her own face. The depth in their mutual gaze prompted an instinctual response and before she knew it Helena found herself lowering into a kiss.

The knock on the door halted her and she turned as it opened to see Andrew and Magnus entering the room. "Dear God," Magnus said as she rounded the bedpost and looked into Myka's face. Helena stood and allowed Magnus room to work. "Good morning, dear, I'm Dr. Helen Magnus. I'm a friend of Helena's, and I'm here to help make you better." Myka smiled at her and nodded as Magnus quickly began a cursory examination. A few minutes later she announced. "This woman is severely dehydrated. Andrew, we'll need a litre of water, mixed with a half-teaspoon of salt and six teaspoons of sugar. It will replenish her fluids and help balance her system. Quickly, please."

"Right away," said Andrew and he gave Helena a nod as he left the room.

Magnus looked up at Helena. "Doctor didn't meet with your approval?"

"Don't get me started," Helena said folding her arms.

"I remember you," Myka said as she looked at Magnus.

"Yes, I should hope so," Magnus smiled at her and took her pulse. "We met a couple of weeks ago."

"At the fair," Myka said and her eyes began closing. She was at the fair again, and watching Helena talk and laugh with her friends. She could see the Ferris Wheel where they had ridden the night before and could hear the sound of a clock tower chiming the hour. What time is it? She needed to know the time but as she fell into her dream she could no longer recall why it was so important to know.

Magnus pulled back the bed-covers and unbuttoned Myka's shirt. Helena averted her eyes. _Really? What? You're looking away again. So? So why does it bother you? It doesn't bother me. That's why you're staring at your feet? It just. It just what? It wouldn't be appropriate! Why not? Because it wouldn't be!_ Magnus examined Myka's stomach, ran her hands over the abdomen and pressed lightly testing for signs of distention or tenderness. She raised her stethoscope and listened as Myka breathed. When she finished she buttoned Myka's shirt and arranged her covers before indicating for Helena to follow her. "We'll talk downstairs and let her rest."

They passed Penny, carrying the requested re-hydration liquid on a tray. Magnus inspected it with a frown, but instructed Penny to ensure Myka drank at least a cupful even if it meant spoon-feeding it to her. Penny nodded her understanding and continued climbing as Magnus and Helena walked to the living room where they met Andrew as he entered from the kitchen. "Mr. Cigrand, good. Tell me, do you have plumbing here or only the well-water?" She did not like the way the water had looked or smelled, but the dehydration needed to be addressed even if the water was contaminated.

"Only well-water, why?" He noted the displeased look on Magnus' face and waited for her response.

"As I feared," she said. "I'm afraid your water supply may be compromised. With Emma's condition, I do not think it is safe for her or any of you to be drinking it."

"Damn," he said. "Whenever the lake rises to these heights we always run a risk of runoff contaminating the local wells. That problem will be resolved this fall. Is that what you think made her ill?"

"Hard to say, really," Magnus replied. "I suspect it could be a source of any number of infectious pathogens, but as none of the rest of you seem to be showing any symptoms it's really too early to know. Either way, I do not suggest you stay here.

"It's fine, Andrew," Helena interrupted. "You can all stay with us. Charles and I have room, you can stay as long as is needed." Helena's suggestion had been impromptu, but having made it she felt glad for it immediately. "It would be better for Emma to be in the city, anyway, closer to a hospital and doctors if she needs them."

Andrew studied both their faces and nodded his head. "You're right. The last thing we need is another typhoid outbreak."

Helena's face filled with horror. "Typhoid?" She turned to her friend who sucked in a breath. "Typhoid, Magnus?"

Magnus had not wanted to proffer the possible diagnosis just yet. Her examination had not revealed the tell-tale sign of the illness, but it was still early and the rash could develop any day. "It's a possibility," she admitted. "All the symptoms fit, including the nosebleeds, as an atypical presentation. Right now, however, my biggest concern is the clear onset of pneumonia. She definitely has fluid building up in her lungs. If you're going to move her, I suggest you do it now before it worsens. My carriage is outside, it's large enough to transport everyone, but I suggest we start with Emma and I can send for the rest of you after we get her settled."

Within the hour Magnus, Helena, and Myka were settled into the carriage briskly heading for Helena's home in the city.


	15. Hope

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Fifteen, Hope

 

(Chicago, IL – 12 May 1893 – sometime after three a.m.)

 

 _Where am I?_ Myka inexplicably found herself standing in a thickly wooded area. _How did I get here?_ This was not where she should be. Only moments ago she had been in a Wyoming parking garage, arguing with former Warehouse agent Steve Jinks, as Claudia and she tried desperately to rush Emily Lake to safety. _What is going on?_ But she was no longer in the parking garage and she had no idea where anyone else was. _Are those voices?_ _Where are they coming from_? She turned to her right and began walking toward the irresistible sound. _No, don't go there._ Something was terribly wrong. _You aren't going to like what you find._ The thought scratched at her mind, but her feet moved of their own accord as if she were simply a marionette pulled forward by some unseen puppeteer. She walked through the scattered forest flotsam pushing aside wayward branches and clingy leaves. They grabbed like ghostly fingers at her nightgown compelled by the conspiring voices in her mind as they worked in concert to keep her from her goal. Debris from the path rose up painfully against her bare feet and it jarred her into the cloudy realization she must be dreaming.

 _Get back to the car._ Yes, the car. Where was the car? It was nowhere to be found. Though she could see sunlight streaming through the canopy, somehow a creeping darkness made her fear whatever she was to discover and she wanted nothing more than to turn back. _Please get back to the car._ She would find safety in the car. She would find solace from the descending dread if she could just get to the damned car.  _Where the hell was it?_ She turned away but it was already too late. Emerging before her was Steve Jinks' lifeless body drained of all color. He stared at her with unseeing eyes and as the horror of the revelation washed over her she heard an earth-shattering wail from somewhere in the distance. Claudia. _I have to find Claudia._ She whipped around and began running through the forest, her legs like pistons fighting against molasses, as she aimed herself in the direction of Claudia's soul-wrenching sob. It felt like the forest might never end as she covered mile after mile, her lungs burning as she drew in each desperately needed breath. And still she ran until at last she broke through the tree line into an unexpected clearing. Claudia was there with Pete, but she was not crying and they were not alone. Myka saw herself, too, arguing with Pete. _She has one of the greatest minds in history!_

Myka remembered this painful debate. She remembered how it felt when Pete offered his thoughts in favor of destroying the Janus Coin. "The answer is still no," she heard herself say. "You cannot – I… _will_ not…" She remembered saying those words. Remembered the disbelieving anger as it rose inside her. Destroy Helena? Her insides writhed at the incomprehensible thought. But then, magically, Helena was there. Her voice, as always, took on the soft warmth of a liquid caress and Myka found herself gratefully falling into the safe and secure feeling as it washed over her. When she found her footing again the images had gone as had the darkness in her mind. Together they dispersed to be replaced instead by the beautiful serenity of a city landscape from long ago. She felt the cool spring wind of Chicago's air upon her face as she soared upward. She leaned into Helena's embrace and sighed happily as they lifted into the sky courtesy of Mr. Ferris' Wheel. She had never known a more perfect moment in all her life and she wished it would never end.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 13 May 1893 – five a.m.)

 

Helena woke to the sound of muted chiming marking the hour. Five o'clock. She had slept less than two hours making it the longest span of continuous rest she had been able to manage. Her hyper-vigilance for Emma made it impossible to rest peacefully, and as she looked to the woman in her arms she could not bring herself to regret it. She was glad Emma was sleeping soundly now. For most of the night she had tossed and turned, ravaged by nightmares and fever and shaking chills, until Helena finally rose from her uncomfortable slouch in the chair across the room to check on her. In her delirium Emma began arguing with first one dream-specter and then another until Helena finally climbed into bed gently rocking her charge to a deeper slumber. From the moment she placed her arm around Emma's body and whispered soothing words into her ear, the woman's dreams appeared to calm.

 _This feels nice. Yes, it does. It's so different. I know._ Helena had seen to it Andrew and Penny settled into the guest room, and had given her own to Emma. She had not expected to end up sharing the bed nor to have it feel so intimate. As she pondered the feeling such a multitude of emotions overtook her she did not immediately realize Mrs. Godswine had somehow made her way into the room to perch near Emma's head during the night. She eventually realized the annoying buzzing sound was the noisy purr of her brother's cat and she moved her arm to shoo her away. Mrs. Godswine lazily blinked at her without moving, but Helena felt Emma's body tighten and stir just as she had every other time she tried unsuccessfully extricating herself during the night.

 _Nice going! There's a cat in my bed! Leave it alone, you're disturbing Emma. Can't you hear all that racket – that's what's disturbing Emma! That racket is called "purring" and Emma clearly likes it. No one could like that! Wasn't she sleeping soundly until you moved? UGH!_ And just as she had every other time she nearly woke Emma, Helena laid her head back down against the pillow and draped her arm over the ailing woman's waist. She resolved not to move again and settled herself wondering if she would manage to get any rest at all. She felt Emma relax and listened as the shallow breathing returned to its previously rhythmic state. In its own way the sound was comforting and made her feel at peace despite the defiant creature sitting too nearby for her own liking. Helena looked at the cat and made a face as Mrs. Godswine celebrated her victory with a paw-lick. Helena sighed in resignation and did her best to ignore the infuriatingly triumphant purr over the next two hours.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 13 May 1893 – eight a.m.)

 

"Good God, you look like hell." Charles' comment received an icy glare as Helena joined him and their guests at the breakfast table. She had risen an hour before the rest of the house and began the day by cooking the large meal.

"Did Emma take any of the warm cereal, Mrs. Cigrand?" Helena looked at Penny hopefully. Emma's appetite had been poor, but she was at least vomiting less.

The woman shook her head and said, "No, she wouldn't take any of it, but I did manage to get some of that very special water into her. She seems to like it."

"It's a start," Helena replied. "At least she's drinking something. I'll try again with the cereal a little later. She needs to eat." Helena stabbed at a berry on her plate and missed. She sighed knowing her exhaustion would catch up with her eventually.

"Was it a family thing, dear?" Penny looked intently at her from across the table. When all she got in response was a confused look she continued. "The water recipe. Was it a family tradition? It's very clever. Nothing that clever could have come from anywhere else." She seemed to answer her own question and gave herself a satisfied nod before returning to her plate.

 _Don't do it! I'm trying not to!_ Helena smiled wanly as she fought the urge to educate the woman on the many benefits of modern science. She settled for a slightly mollifying response. "Actually, I learned it from Dr. Magnus a few years ago. But, her father had been a doctor, so she may have learned it from him."

Penny squinted her eyes with delight. "Oh isn't that just the loveliest thing? All good doctors bring a little bit of home with them, don't they?" Helena forced herself to remain silent. "I do like that Dr. Magnus. She seems very kind, and quite knowledgeable for a woman."

Helena had enough.  She placed her napkin on the table. She could only take so much on so little sleep, and she did not wish to cause a scene. She excused herself politely and shared a knowing look with Andrew, before departing for the basement where she lost herself in her work for the day.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 15 May 1893 – two p.m.)

 

"I'm not sure how it's possible, but you look even less rested than you did this morning." Magnus gave a reprimanding look as she stepped through the doorway followed by James Watson and Nikola Tesla. Helena greeted them with a tired nod and closed the door behind them.

"I slept enough," Helena lied leading them down into the basement where they could speak undisturbed. She turned up the lighting for her guests knowing they would likely not share her preference for dim working conditions. Magnus, Watson, and Nikola spread throughout the room, but Magnus studied her face for signs of exhaustion. For the third time in as many nights Helena had seen little rest as she held Emma throughout the night. It was the only way she found that could bring respite to the dreamer, but her labored breathing kept Helena awake with worry. Emma's fever worsened again in the late evening hours, and by mid-morning was slipping in and out of consciousness so fluidly it was no longer possible to tell whether or not she slumbered while she spoke.

"I should say not," countered Watson. "You've been awake multiple nights if that darkness under your eyes is any indication." Helena was too tired to argue. "What's keeping you so occupied? Your experiments?" He glanced at the busy looking set of laboratory tables as he spoke.

"Her friend Emma, you recall meeting her? She's fallen ill and is staying here." Magnus interjected carefully emphasizing her words. "Wells has been caring for her."

"So bring in a nurse," Nikola commented. "Why put yourself through all that when you can simply hire help?" He looked at Helena and wondered why she would devote so much time to the task usually meted out to a member of the household staff.

"A nurse?" Helena turned to him. "Why on earth would I leave Emma's care to a _nurse_? Would you leave the woman _you_ lo – " she caught herself and stopped mid-sentence. _Finish the word. No. Why not? Because. Because why? It doesn't matter. It matters to you. It shouldn't. And yet it does._ "Would you leave your _friend_ to the care of a stranger?"

"I'm actually quite worried about her," Magnus added. "We've managed to break the fever only temporarily over the last few days, but it seems to be gathering strength. This morning it reached a hundred and four."

Magnus and Nikola exchanged glances, but said nothing. Watson, however, could not resist the opportunity to harangue his colleague. "It would seem, H.G., that your faculties have been compromised with emotional nonsense. We've a case to discuss, but perhaps some much needed rest will provide you with a less… compromised… perspective."

Magnus watched as Watson lit Helena's fuse. Her two friends were like oil and water and she sensed an impending outburst. As the two broke into their same old arguments an amused Nikola leaned against one of the tables knocking over a beaker and jostling several others. The sound caught Magnus' attention and for the first time she noticed the actual experiments so meticulously laid out around the perimeter of the large room.

"Wells," she said. When she got no response she raised her voice so she could be heard over the flying verbal barbs. "Wells!" Helena turned to her. "What type of growth is this?"

Helena turned her back on Watson who fumed at her last insult. "I'm researching fungal growth and spore dispersal patterns. Why?"

"Fungal growth," Magnus said under her breath. Her eyes brightened and darted back and forth along the many rows of trays and cultures. "What type of medium have you been using?"

"Well, you can't tell it now, but this table here," she walked to a table in the back of the room. The strange bluish-green growth covering the specimens left no suggestion of the previous shape once held by its host. "This one is all from bread. The growths are in various stages as you can see." She pointed to the adjacent table. "This one is citrus, but has been difficult to study. And those over there," she pointed to the two nearest the door. "One is bread at earlier stages, and the other is a compost I've just started for mushrooms. Over where Nikola is standing, I started making an extract from the previous experiment. I'm not sure what it does, yet, but it's been quite challenging trying to ensure a pure sample for study."

"Oh, Wells, you glorious genius." Magnus looked around the room in awe. All eyes turned to Helena as Magnus added, "You may have just saved Emma's life."

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 15 May 1893 – seven p.m.)

 

"Now pour it through the filter," Magnus stood on the opposite side of the laboratory table as she prepared a slide for the microscope. Helena took her instruction and set the slurry to filter. She watched as it slowly dripped into an awaiting flask. Although her work had been intended for the study of fungal spores dispersal patterns in relation to toxicity and hallucinogenic effects, Magnus had brightened immeasurably when she saw the full state of her experiments; she appropriated the entire lot of bread-molds, along with their extracts, leaving Helena with only the mushrooms for her research.

"Well?" Helena looked up in anticipation as Magnus adjusted the slide and looked into the microscope lens. She adjusted the magnification and moments later looked up with a smile. "You've done it Wells! Come see for yourself!" Helena peered through the microscope and examined the specimen as Magnus spoke. "The multinucleate are branched – extremely so, and the spore hyphae are septate and colorless, while the conidiospores are the characteristic green." Helena saw Magnus' observations were correct and stood up to look at her. The admiration Magnus felt showed in her face. "The medical profession could use you. It's not too late to change your mind." Magnus looked around the room in amazement. "Imagine creating viable _penicillium glaucum_ in your basement for goodness sake." She shook her head. "If it were anyone else I never would have believed it. You truly are brilliant, Wells."

Helena rolled her eyes. "You know as well as I do how little you actually learn in those blasted medical classes." She had attended the first year of medical school with Magnus as her only worthwhile adjunct, and quickly decided she was better off doing research rather than wasting time being educated by professors who knew less than she did. She glanced at her depleted fungal trays. "And you've ruined a good deal of my research, I'll have you know. It took me weeks to get to that point with those bread samples."

Magnus gave her a dimpled grin. "I think you'll find the sacrifice was well worth it."

"You really think this will help her?" Helena regarded Magnus' suggestion with curiosity.

"I'm certain of it," Magnus replied as she measured out another sample. "She never developed the rash I feared, and I am inclined to believe she has influenza complicated by severe pneumonia. We can't do anything about the former, but this," she held up a small test tube of the mold extract, "is going to give her a fighting chance against the latter."

"If it works so well, why haven't they put this into practice yet?" She knew nothing of the concept of antibiotics until Magnus explained it, and she was the one person Helena would never question when it came to matters of medical biology. If Magnus was convinced this would help Emma then Helena had no trouble believing it, but wondered why she had never heard of it before.

"You know what it's like," came the off-handed reply. Helena did not need Magnus to finish the thought. She knew very well how difficult it was for a woman's theories to be accepted by the medical world. It was partly why she chose not to pursue the field for something more fulfilling – though that had all been about personal fulfillment seeing as her own research had not been accepted by anyone other than her brother for use in his fictions. She gave Magnus a sympathizing look before busying herself with her set of tasks refining the chemical extracts. They still had much work to do.

Hours later they climbed the stairs to the bedroom with a tray of hot soup and a cup of tea into which they mixed the first batch of the bitter-tasting extract. Emma's fever had broken enough for her to eat and drink down the medicine, which she did between violent coughing spasms. Magnus helped Penny to get her bathed and made sure she was set for the evening before she departed. Afterwards Helena set herself next to Emma and read to her from Shakespeare's _All's Well That Ends Well_ until Emma fell asleep to the sound of her voice.

Helena chuckled lightly and reached out to lower the nearby lamp's flame inadvertently causing Emma to stir. She lay back against the pillow and carefully set her book aside as Emma's hand reached across her torso allowing her to hold on tightly while she nestled her head into the crook of Helena's neck. The feeling brought a soft smile to Helena's face and she laid her hand against Emma's head to gently place a kiss against her hair. She knew she could no longer deny her feelings. _I love her. It's about time you realized it. No, I really love her. I'm well-aware. I could stay like this forever. Maybe you should kiss her. No. You almost did the other day. I shouldn't have. Why not? Robert. He's not here. He'll always be here._

She sighed and wrapped her arms around Emma's body trying to wish away the sickness. She awoke only once during the night, when the coughing and fever returned, quickly seeing to another dose of the homemade penicillin before happily folding Emma back into her arms. They slept so deeply neither of them noticed when Mrs. Godswine entered the room loudly purring as she reclaimed her new fiefdom atop Emma's pillow.


	16. Closing In

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Sixteen, Closing In

  


(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"Good morning, Doc!" Claudia walked into the area carrying a large bundle of orange plastic strips. Helena followed behind her carrying even more; they dumped both their armfuls onto the table and picked up two fistfuls each.

"Good morning," Dr. Calder smiled her greeting at the two women. "What's all this?"

"Gotta tag the power conduits," Claudia answered as she ducked down and tied an orange strip around a collection of cables. "The Refresh is coming up." Helena nodded and began tagging on the other side of the room.

Dr. Calder had nearly forgotten the power grid refresh. It had been quite some time since the last refresh, and usually only took a day or two to complete. The Warehouse staff had to refresh the entire grid every so often in order to prevent a dangerous overload of energy. Failure to do so would inevitably resign the Warehouse to the same fate as its predecessor and no one wanted to see such a fiasco occur again. "When does it start?" She looked at Myka and furrowed her brow. She was not comfortable with the idea of them touching anything while the agent was still lost in time.

"Not for a while, that's why we're tagging the conduits." Claudia answered as she struggled with separating heavy cables for her task.

"It won't be before Myka's back, will it?" Dr. Calder sounded hesitant.

"Not to worry," Helena interjected. "We're just isolating the grid. Myka will remain unaffected."

Claudia's voice rang up from underneath the conduit where she worked. "Yep, we're color-coding. Orange goes last. That won't happen until after she's back." Dr. Calder nodded her head in satisfaction and began laying out objects on a table near Myka's position.

"What's that, then?" Helena asked curiously.

"Oh, it's time for her last injection." Dr. Calder held up the last full syringe of the extract Helena Magnus had given her. She prepped Myka's arm and inserted the hypodermic needle carefully. When she was finished she placed a small bandage on Myka's arm and proceeded to record her vitals. She glanced at the electronic monitor and jotted down the heart rate and blood pressure. Everything appeared to be normal despite the longevity of the unusual circumstances.

"How's she doing, Doc?" Claudia slid herself over to another conduit near the floor and began tagging it.

"Surprisingly well," said Dr. Calder with a smile. "I'm just glad this will all be over soon. The sooner we get her back here the better."

"I hear that," said Claudia as she continued her work. Helena said nothing but silently winced at the mention of Myka's return. She wanted her back safely, of that there was no doubt in anyone's mind. But she did not entirely share in the anticipatory enthusiasm of the others. More and more she was beginning to look at Myka's return with anxiety as she considered what their first conversation might be like. She knew Myka cared for her, but she could not be sure the love she saw from the previous timeline had carried over into this one. When she considered that last day she had spent with Emma, knowing now it had been Myka, it filled her with a degree of sadness she had not felt in many years. Emma had loved her – had even said so, before they spent that one incredible night together. But, was it Myka or Emma who left that morning for Chicago? Was it Myka or Emma who had given those terrible words to Robert Phelps to convey? There was only going to be one way to find out, and the day for that conversation was quickly approaching.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 17 May 1893)

 

"This is entirely unnecessary, Magnus, I'm telling you I am absolutely fi – " Helena's statement was cut short as Magnus popped a thermometer into her mouth.

"You're a worse patient than I am, Wells, do you know that?" Magnus gave her a reproving look and fumbled through her medical bag. Helena crossed her arms muttering something unintelligible but dutifully kept the thermometer in place.

Myka sat next to her bed-mate trying to hide the amused look on her face. She had never seen Helena ill, and the display of child-like defiance was so unexpectedly fitting of the woman before her that she could not help but grin. She herself had not completely recovered from her own bout with the flu, although her fever had finally broken and she felt better than she had in many days. She still had her cough, weakened as it was, but the tightness in her chest was thankfully starting to relax. She only wished she did not feel so winded. Even the simple act of conversation left her overly tired and weak. Magnus explained she would continue to be easily exhausted and had ordered her to as much bed-rest as she could manage for at least another few days. Until then she knew she had to continue taking her medicated tea, and wondered if Helena should begin the same regimen. "Will she be okay? Is there enough medicine for her, too?"

"I should think so. At the very least I'm hoping it will act prophylactically with the version of pneumonia you seem to have had." Magnus found her stethoscope and motioned for Helena to unbutton her shirt. "We were fortunate she had so many cultures. But, then, she's always been a bit of an overachiever." Magnus gave Myka a wink and motioned again for her patient to undress. Helena rolled her eyes but complied. She began deftly unfastening her shirt stopping short after releasing the second button when she had the dawning realization that both women's eyes were upon her. She raised an eyebrow at Myka who turned slightly red before guiltily averting her gaze. Helena tried not to smile.  _At least she has the good sense to seize an opportunity. Must you always comment? Must you always let me?_

A few moments later Helena issued instructions. "Breathe in. Out. Deep breath and hold it. Another deep breath. Good. You can button up again." She put the stethoscope in her bag. "Doesn't sound like there's any fluid build-up, but I don't want to take any chances. Keep taking the extract twice a day for the next few days. Now let me have that thermometer." Magnus took the thermometer from her patient's mouth and announced the temperature. "Ninety-nine point eight. Slightly elevated but nothing to worry about. Good. Seems you're getting off easier than Emma, but I still want you to take the extract." Magnus put the thermometer away as she readied herself to leave. "I've already spoken with Andrew, Wells. And I don't want any arguments. Penny will be attending you while you rest."

"Are you trying to kill me, Magnus?" Helena's tone could not have been more serious, and it sent Myka into a fit of laughter when she considered what the next few days would be like under Penny's care. Helena turned toward her. "What's so funny?" Myka only laughed harder at her indignation though she regretted her inability to contain herself when she realized, too late, that she had aggravated her lungs. As her coughing finally died down she drew a self-satisfied response from Helena. "You know, I think you deserved that." Something in the way her voice lilted caused Myka to guffaw and the two women descended into a joint bout of hysterics – but in their weakened states it was not long before they were both severely winded. Eventually they succumbed to their mutual tiredness and in the unspoken awareness of their proximity they both made an unconscious choice to lay down as far from the other as they could possibly manage. Neither fell into a deep sleep, however. Like magnets perched within a small confined space, the two slumbering women migrated ever-so-slowly toward one another. It was not until they could wrap themselves in each other's arms that either of them found rest.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 17 May 1893)

 

James Watson stood under an awning trying his best to look inconspicuous for a second evening in a row. He wanted to arouse no suspicions and, so far, had blended well into the crowds outside the candy store. Already twice this evening he had been able to verify Helena's observation regarding the packages only some women took from the store. Yesterday, there had been three women. They did not appear to have anything in common. As he stood there watching the storefront he noticed a woman crossing the street toward the store. She seemed oblivious to the happenings around her as she stepped into the street into the path of an oncoming carriage. Watson darted out and grabbed her at the last minute.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as he pulled her to the sidewalk.

As the carriage sped by Watson turned to her. "Are you all right?" He narrowed his eyes and took in her appearance. He recognized this woman. She had been at the store the previous day and was one of the women who received the off-packaging.

"Yes, yes I am. Thank you, sir." The woman looked around with perplexity. "This is just… so odd," she said in her bewilderment.

"I should say so," Watson retorted. "You were very nearly killed!"

"No, I meant," she looked around again and shook her head as if to free some foggy memory, but she did not finish her sentence.

"What is it?" Watson looked at her with grave concern.

She turned to him and said, "I don't know how I got here." Her voice trembled and a clearly distinct fear filled her face. Watson took her by the arm and guided her toward the sidewalk. The woman was clearly in some sort of fugue state, and there was no telling what amount of danger she could find herself in if she experienced it again.

"I'll see you home, Miss…?" He looked at her waiting for her to volunteer a name.

"Spencer," she answered. "Mrs. Beatrice Spencer."

Watson took a few moments to speak to a youngster working at the flower stand on the corner. When he finished he and Mrs. Spencer walked to her home, nearly an hour away, for which Watson was more than grateful. It gave him the amount of time he needed to question her closely as they walked the long distance to her home. He was able to garner a great deal of useless information, but one item did stick out in his mind. According to Mrs. Spencer, and he regarded the exact recollection of her information with not the smallest bit of trepidation, the candy-store's keeper had specifically said "I'll see you tomorrow" when she left the premises on the previous day. This was in spite of the fact she neglected to mention even one word about returning – and, so she said, had not had any actual intention of doing so. If not for the alarming state in which he found her Watson might never have given the remark another thought – but considering the circumstances, it seemed far more prescient a comment than it otherwise should have been.

He needed to find out more about the store's keeper. As he made his way back to the candy store he mulled over the facts as he knew them. Whatever was happening with the storekeeper there was one thing of which he was absolutely convinced – Jack the Ripper could not be responsible for Mrs. Spencer's return to the store. The Jack he knew would never have chosen such an upstanding woman for his victim, nor would he have wasted his time in carrying out his deeds. If this were Jack's work his victims, almost certainly of the Unfortunates, would have been taken by chance in the dead of night. They would not have been so carefully selected, nor would he have relied upon some unbeknownst means by which to lure them back in the light of day. He concluded this was not his old nemesis, but it was certainly no less difficult a situation and he had every intention of seeing it through to its end.

By the time he made it back to the store the fairgrounds were emptying and many customers milled in and out of the nearby shops. Watson entered the candy store where he pretended to browse a few minutes before making his way near the counter. He watched the storekeeper helping customers and quickly catalogued his features. The corpulent man was in his early thirties, shorter than average and carried a severely receding hairline. He wore rounded spectacles making his small brown eyes appear almost too small. What hair he lacked on his head seemed to have migrated to his beard and mustache, and coupled with his sparse eyebrows, his features gave him a look of perpetual surprise. Watson listened as the man spoke with customers, and watched as he handed out only one bag tied with ribbon to an attractive young woman. As the small child accompanying her begged for a piece of the candy, she asked the man for a knife to cut the ribbon loose. He complied by handing her a bladed razor which she used to deftly cut through the binding before handing it back. The smile on the shopkeeper's face kicked Watson's instincts into high gear and he stepped toward the counter to get a better assessment of the man.

"Hello, Mr. Pitezel, pleasant evening tonight." A woman greeted the shopkeeper. Watson turned his head to examine her. She was an older woman, perhaps in her late fifties, and was accompanied by a man who looked slightly older. Watson quickly surmised they were husband and wife.

"Indeed," said the shopkeeper. "If the good weather holds we should be able to get everything moved over in the next few days."

"I'm sure the good doctor will be pleased." The husband spoke. "How is the new pharmacy coming along?"

"Almost finished," the shopkeeper replied. "And I'm glad for that, though trying to finish all the shelving while helping to manage this place has been a bit tiresome!" He smiled and the elder couple nodded knowingly.

Watson allowed himself another twenty minutes in the store listening to various conversations with the shopkeeper until a young woman Watson remembered from the previous evening walked to the counter and stood next to him silently awaiting the shopkeeper. She held a bag in her hand – her purchase from the store, and stared vacantly without moving.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 18 May 1893)

 

"Oh, you poor dears," Penny tutted as she placed a tray of medicated hot tea on the dresser. "I'm so sorry to wake you, but it's time for your tea." She poured out a cup and set one near Myka who sat up and rubbed her eyes. No matter how much she slept she still seemed to be tired, and she hoped she would soon find her strength.

"Thank you, Penny," Myka said and reached for the tea. "It is kind of you to take care of us." She was not looking forward to the bitter taste, but the medicine was helping and she knew she needed to finish her doses if she was going to feel any better at all.

"Oh, not at all, dear. I'm glad to do it. And we're so glad to see you feeling better, Emma. You gave us quite a scare you did." Penny poured a second cup and walked over to the other side of the bed where Helena lay soundly asleep. "Do you think I should wake her?" Penny gave Myka a worried look.

Myka smiled. Penny had already woken Helena twice during the day and the last time she did so the spate of colorful language had shocked the poor woman so much she nearly dropped the entire pot of tea. "I think you can leave it for her, I'll be sure she takes it."

"Are you sure?" Penny looked at her thankfully. "I could just leave this with you and get back to the kitchen to finish preparing lunch?" Though she was bound and determined to do as Dr. Magnus had instructed, she was not entirely sure whether Emma's friend disliked her or the medication, and she did her best to try to lighten her mood by frequently offering her a Marjoram sachet to put under her pillow – she had even explained how dreams bathed in the herb were always lighter and happier, but for some reason this only caused the poorly feeling woman to become even more unpleasant. Penny hoped the medicated tea would help quickly restore her to better spirits.

"Yes, Penny, I'm sure." Myka gave her the reassurance she needed to leave the tray and head back downstairs to finish making the lunchtime meal. As soon as she left Myka leaned over and put her hand to Helena's head. She felt warm, but not overly so and she was thankful for that. She felt bad enough knowing Helena had cared for her so attentively that she had neglected her own health, it would only have made her feel worse if Helena's bout with the flu ended up as bad as her own had been. Helena's eyes fluttered open at her touch. She turned her head until she took in Myka's smiling face.

"Oh," she said. "What time is it?" She sat herself up and looked around. Spying the tea on her nightstand she reached for it taking a large sip of the dark liquid. "God, that truly is atrocious," she said with a face, but she continued drinking until she drained her cup. "Still, better to be safe than sorry I suppose."

"How are you feeling?" Myka thought Helena looked tired, but otherwise seemed very much herself. She hoped it was a good sign.

"Feeling rather overly rested, if you must know." Helena looked like she was ready to crawl out her skin. "Fancy helping me with some work?" Helena turned to her with a look of excitement.

"Oh, I don't know," Myka said hesitantly. "I really don't think we should be overdoing it just yet."

"Not at all," Helena said with a mischievous grin. "I'll just retrieve some items and we can work on it in here!" And with that she jumped out of bed, donned her robe, and headed downstairs. As she made her way down the stairs she ran into Andrew.

"Ah, Miss Wells!" Andrew greeted her with a smile. "Good to see you up and about, I hope you're feeling better?"

"Much," she said truthfully.

"Glad to hear it!" His smiled turned into an enthusiastic grin. "And I hear Emma is getting stronger each day. Very good news indeed. Oh, but I forget myself. There's a gentleman to see you. Says his name is James Watson."

Helena tilted her head and looked down the stairs. She could make out the bottom of Watson's coat near the landing. Of all the people who might drop by to check on them he was the last person she expected to see. "Thank you, Andrew. I'll see him in the library if you don't mind. I won't be long." She headed back to her room to change clothes and quickly made her way down to the library a few minutes later.

"H.G.," Watson greeted her tersely.

"Watson," she said with an equal lack of enthusiasm. She took in his countenance and noted the look of agitation in his face. "What brings you to the house?"

"I think I may understand what's been happening." He took a seat near the large desk and crossed his legs. "But, I need a few more details from you to be sure." Helena looked at him with curiosity and took a seat near him.

"Details about what?" she asked. It was not the first time the two had consulted on matters of importance, but the last time they had it had not ended well and she was surprised he would purposefully seek her out for assistance.

Watson steepled his fingers and held them to his chin. "I need you to tell me what you remember of Benjamin Pitezel."


	17. Revision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an unexpected resolution to the Holmes case and Myka faces a new problem in her present time period.

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Seventeen, Revision

(Chicago, 20 May 1893)

 

"And this will show people talking?" Myka looked at the pieces and parts splayed about the bed as Helena made corrections to her diagram.

"Mm-hmm," answered Helena as she turned the paper sideways. Myka glanced up at her and grinned. Helena's tongue peeked out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated and Myka found it endearing beyond measure. Something about watching the inventor hard at work tugged at her heart and she relished in being able to share the moment with her in her own time-period. Helena had just finished explaining the design of her new device, and it sounded very much like the object mentioned in,  _The Sleeper Wakes_ , which she always thought seemed very much like a television.

Myka had not thought of the novel in many years, but could not help drawing parallels to the quandary of its main character and the eventual displacement of the woman before her into another time. What must it be like to go to sleep in one era and wake up in another – a complete stranger to the world around you, and find it full of all the fears you had for the future? She looked at Helena with amazement mixed with compassion and silently wondered if Helena had any idea how prescient the novel ended up being. She watched as Helena carefully moved pieces closer to her side of the diagram before laying them out in perfect order. Helena had described the design to be for a device that would show moving images. She had not mentioned sound, and the device in the novel definitely had sound. Myka picked up one of the cylinders atop the bedspread and turned it over in her hand as Helena began assembling a housing unit from the wooden panels near the diagram. "All you'll need to do is to press this," Helena said indicating a small button on what would be the underside of the box's lid. "That will cause the transmission to begin displaying the images." She turned the panel upside down again and affixed it to another panel.

"And this?" Myka picked up a small circular disk.

"Oh! Be careful with that, Emma!" Helena exclaimed her concern so urgently that Myka immediately moved to set the disk back on the bedspread. "Sorry, dearest, it's just that's a crucial part of the experiment and if anything goes wrong with it I doubt I'll be able to get Nipkow to send me another one." She watched and let herself relax as the disk found its resting place. Confident it was safe she turned her attention back to the panels in her hands.

Myka eyed the disk with curiosity. It was small, circular, and had perforations along its surface. The holes were machined into a spiral with the innermost hole resting slightly below the spiral's tail. Myka wondered what the spiral allowed the disk to produce. She counted the holes in the face of the disk. Sixteen. "Nipkow?" The word was unfamiliar to her.

"Sorry?" Helena's distracted voice caught her attention. They both looked up at each other and Myka smiled. Helena wore the same look on her face as she had the night Myka kept interrupting her while she attempted to disconnect the time machine from its platform.

"You said Nipkow wouldn't send you another disk," Myka explained with a glint of bemusement in her voice. "What is a Nipkow?"

It was Helena's turn to smile. "Not what, dear, who. The question is 'who is Nipkow?'" She pointed to the disk. " _That_  is part of an electric telescopic, though to be honest I've never seen the finished construction. And to answer your question, Nipkow is the young man who invented it." She picked up another panel and began affixing it to the pieces she already had in place. Mr. Nipkow lent me his only prototype. We met, very briefly, a few years ago just after he patented the design. It got me thinking about optics, as you know." Myka grinned as she recalled the dinner conversation they held recently. Helena was definitely interested in optics, though she had not realized the interest extended beyond the biology of the topic. "If I am correct about the way in which it will transmit images, I will need to make many more of those – with modifications, of course, so that it transmits the photographic negatives the way I need them to be ordered. But, until I've had a chance to test it out properly I need to make sure the disk stays in working order."

Myka looked at the disk again. "Why sixteen holes? Why not fifteen or seventeen?"

"I don't know the answer to that," Helena said giving a twist on a wooden peg as she tightened it into place. "I suspect I will be making adjustments to the number on the new disks I'll need to fabricate, but I'll use the original for a starting reference."

Myka looked between the disk and the diagram. "But it only shows a recording of the people talking. It shows a conversation took place. That's all, right? It doesn't actually let you transmit the conversation itself." The observational remark caught Helena's attention. The inventor looked up from her work.

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, you're only showing the images, right?" Myka pointed to the part of the diagram relating to the projection area for the device. "It'll be whatever you have on a photo-negative, as you've said. Well, a photo-negative doesn't record sound so you won't be able to actually  _hear_  the conversation, you'll just be able to see it."

Helena blinked her eyes and cocked her head to the side as she contemplated. "Well now  _there's_  a novel idea," she said. "I admit I've only held a curiosity for the way in which the human eye detects movement," her voice took on a far-away quality. "But, I can see the appeal in marrying the audible with the visual." Myka groaned internally at the realization she was, yet again, offering ideas far too advanced for their time to someone who had the capability of bringing them to fruition.

"Yes, though hearing the sound wouldn't in any way help you test your theories." Myka's attempt to redirect Helena's focus back to her current experiment was quickly brushed aside.

"On the contrary, Emma, I believe the addition of audible content would allow me to gauge a more realistic presentation of the imagery." She beamed a smile at Myka. "Aces!" Despite knowing she had accidentally interfered, Myka could not help but smile at Helena's elation. Seeing her so happy just melted her on the spot. "It will take a good deal of re-work." Helena scowled at the diagram in front of her. "But," she gave a resigned sigh. "There's nothing for it I'm afraid."

Myka wondered how many of the future novels would be shaped by such innocent exchanges with Helena. Her thoughts, however, were cut short by the appearance of Penelope. "Hello. Excuse me. Uhm. Ms. Wells? You, uhm.." Penny wrung her hands nervously.

Helena gave her an impatient look. "Out with it. What is it?" Myka gave her a reproving look. Helena sighed and addressed the woman again. "Yes, Penelope. You have a question?" The dulcet tone in her voice drew a wry smile from Myka and she gave Helena an approving nod.

Penny brightened, but only slightly. "If you're feeling well-enough for it, you have a visitor. Mr. Watson?" At the mention of the visitor's name Penny's countenance visibly fell again.

"What is it, Penny?" She rose from the bed and stepped closer to her. Andrew's wife simply shook her head, and said nothing further.

"At this hour?" Helena's agitated voice caused Penny to wince. "I swear the man has absolutely no manners. Busy-bodied inconsiderate fool!" Only Myka caught the surprised look in Penny's eyes. "Please inform Mr. Watson," Helena said pulling herself back into a more appeasing tone, "to return in the morning if he wishes to see me. We have retired for the night." Myka shook her head in amusement. Neither of them was ready for sleep. Although Helena wore her bedclothes, Myka was still dressed normally. Penny wrung her hands again and turned to leave.

Myka decided to accompany her downstairs. "I'll go with you." She put a hand on Penny's shoulder and noted the relieved look on the woman's face. "I'll be back in a little bit, Helena, I think I'm going to grab something to eat. Do you want anything?"

"Mmm-no," came the reply. Helena was looking at her diagram again and making marks with her pencil at various places. "Still not quite up to snuff. Not much of an appetite." Myka nodded her understanding to no one. Helena's attention was focused on her diagram. It would be another day or two before the inventor would be back to her normal self. Although her color was still paler than she liked, it was better than it had been in days, and Myka knew it would improve with more rest – if only she could force her to sleep. They both still tired easily and could use more rest than Helena's active mind allowed. Myka left the room with Penny at her side and addressed the worried looking woman as they moved out of earshot.

"Penny? What's wrong?" Myka looked at her with concern.

"Oh, nothing terribly wrong, dear," Penny leaned in closer to whisper. "Only I can't tell which is worse – your Ms. Wells or her Mr. Watson!"

Myka laughed at her distress and said, "I know what you mean, Penny. You'd think they'd make better friends, wouldn't you?" She laughed again when Penny nodded in furious agreement. "I'll tell you what. I'll go talk with Mr. Watson, you don't need to worry yourself about him any further."

"Thank you, Emiline." Penny sighed her relief. "He's waiting in the library." She shuffled off in a different direction as they finished their descent from the stairs, and Myka entered the library to find James Watson standing at attention with his hands folded together behind his back. He seemed to be taking in the list of titles upon the shelves and turned as she called out to him.

"Mr. Watson," Myka said as she entered the room.

"Ah. Miss Cigrand. I trust you're feeling better?" Watson's tone was crisp and sharp.

"Yes, much," she answered. "Thank you." Myka walked to a chair near the desk and took a seat. Watson hesitated.

"Is H.G. on her way?" He asked and turned his gaze toward the door.

"She's still not feeling well," Myka said truthfully. "I'd be happy to relay a message for you, if you'd like."

He made no immediate response, but walked to a nearby chair and quickly sat. Myka watched as he quietly crossed his legs and brought his hands together to steeple his fingers under his nose. He eyed her carefully before lowering his hands and opened his mouth to speak. His tone was even and without emotion of any kind. "I've come to inform her the mystery has been solved. The Holmes matter is now closed."

 

* * *

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"Are you sure?" Helena's voice matched the urgency in the expression on her face.

Claudia nodded. "Yes. I tested it three times. It's not charging."

"How did this  _happen_?" Helena balled her fists and let them rest atop Leena's breakfast table. She was unnerved by the news.

Claudia winced under the intensity of the accusing tone. She knew she was not to blame, and neither was Pete who sat next to her stoic and silent. "I don't know. There was no indication like Tesla said there would be. I went to do the normal charge-cycle and noticed it wasn't actually transferring any power."

Leena took a seat at the table and looked around. The tension was palpable. "What's going on?" Helena started to speak but Artie cut her off.

"The battery device powering Myka's connection to the time machine," he said. "It's fallen below its reserve and is cut off from being charged.  _Why_  that happened is something we can worry about later." He shot Helena a look. She caught it and swallowed back her next statement. "Right now let's just focus on fixing the problem."

Leena furrowed her brow. "What's that mean 'is cut off from being charged'?"

"Precisely what it sounds like, Leena!" Helena pulled herself upright and placed her fists on her hips. She was still furious, but had managed to keep herself from an outburst. "Myka is still days from returning and the connection she has to the time machine will not hold out."

"So let's just plug her back in again. We can do that, right Artie?" Pete addressed Artie instead of Helena.

"We can't," Claudia answered. "We've been de-coupling various sections from the power grid so we can reset the system when Myka's back. Her section is still fine for normal purposes, but we've taken out too many of the switches and relays. If we try to draw that much power through the grid it won't hold continuously for more than a day."

"So what does that mean for Myka?" Leena had not been involved in the day-to-day maintenance of Myka's care while the time-machine was in use. Being near her for too long caused her severe headaches that she decided had something to do with the displaced aura.

"It means," Artie responded. "We need an alternate power source. How much time does the battery give her at this state?" He aimed the question at Helena.

She blinked at him but quickly did the math in her head. "She should be okay for another three days on battery power alone." Artie took the number and crunched it in his head with a few others. "But that isn't nearly enough time…" He cut her objection off as he addressed Claudia.

"How many hours can the system support her before blowing out entirely?" He looked at her and waved his hands when she took too long to respond.

"Calm yourself!" She reprimanded him. She shut her eyes tightly as she imagined the power grid's layout. "Right now with the relays still in place, and if she doesn't blow any circuits right away, I'd say she's probably able to get about twenty-seven hours before the first circuit blows. But they may not hold that long and the failures will begin to cascade once the first one goes. No matter how long its been before that happens, afterwards she'll only have another hour or two at most."

"And how much time is left until she returns?" Everyone looked at a timepiece except for Helena who knew the precise amount of time remaining.

"Eighty-nine hours, fourteen minutes, and three seconds." Everyone looked at her when she finished speaking. She gave an irritated shake of her head and crossed her arms. "What?" No one responded.

"If everything holds we have enough time to get her back safely." Artie seemed relieved at the conclusion.

"Yeah, but when does anything ever go according to plan?" Pete asked the question no one wanted to address.

"He's right," Helena said. "We can't afford to rely on the power grid alone. We have to come up with something else."

"Any suggestions?" Artie looked up at her expectantly.

"None that I can think of… but, this isn't my specialty." She unfolded her arms. "I need to call Nikola."

 

* * *

(Chicago, IL – 21 May 1893)

 

It seemed nearly impossible to believe, so Myka read the newspaper article for the fourth time. It matched the details Watson had relayed. Benjamin Pietzel was suspected in the kidnapping and murder of the missing women, and he had been found murdered. Dr. Holmes was in custody. There were no details in the article as to what led them to believe Holmes was tied to the candy-store clerk's murder, or exactly how Pietzel had managed to commit his crimes, but the story was just unfolding and more detail would be made available according to the article. With both the clerk and Holmes out of the picture it meant the people of Chicago were safe. Myka set the paper down and sat back in her chair.

They had done it. Somehow they had managed to avert the worst murder-spree in the history of the United States. But how? The question nagged at her mind. She knew from first-hand experience that it was not possible to rewrite history. Pete and she had tried during their only other time-travel experience and had failed miserably. How, then, could the events of 1893 be so drastically changed? She silently cursed herself for not having read more on Holmes after learning about the case before she made the trip, but she had no reason to believe she would be in the same time-period as the man and had focused entirely on the aspects of the case she believed she would encounter.

"Nasty business, that," said Andrew half-heartedly as he picked up the paper and glanced through the article.

"Yes," was Myka's only response. She was trying to come to terms with the implications of the change in events.

"I'm so sorry," Andrew said. The strange apology caused Myka to look up at him. "I know you had your heart set on moving here into town and working for him," he answered her unasked question. "But, I'd rather you came home than ended up messed up in something so nefarious." He dropped the paper on the table and gave Myka a kiss on the cheek. "You'll find something else to keep you occupied, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, I'm positive we can think of something!" Helena's voice called out as she descended the stairs for the first time in days. Myka watched her enter the room and noted the small flush in her cheeks. Her color was improving, and she seemed to be feeling in better spirits. Myka was glad to see her up and about. The two women smiled at each other and Myka realized, for the first time, that a world of possibility had just opened up in front of her.


	18. Precipice

 

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Eighteen, Precipice

(Chicago, IL – 21 May 1893)

 

 _Just go look for her. No. Why not? Because. Because why? Because she's a grown woman and she can do what she wants. Yes, but that's got nothing to do with you wanting to know if she's okay._ Helena tossed in the bed and faced the wall. Emma had not come to bed. Instead, she said she wanted to read and declined to do so in the room. She took a book and went to read elsewhere, but that had been just after the dinner hour. Many hours had passed since then and she still had not returned. Helena grimaced as the downstairs clock chimed the night's one o'clock hour. She lay on her back trying to still her ever-active mind.

_Of course she's okay, she's just reading. How do you know? Because I know. Didn't you notice how detached she was this afternoon? Of course I noticed! And how she hardly ate at dinner? I noticed that, too. And how she sat in the library the rest of the evening? I noticed all of it, okay? Okay. Okay what? Okay, at least you noticed. Oh shut up!_

Helena threw back the bedcovers and grabbed her robe. She tied it quickly and donned her house slippers. She knew she would get no rest until she satisfied her concern over Emma's absence. She walked down the stairs entering the library she used as her study only to find it cold, dark and empty. Emma was nowhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

Myka sat in the garden where she had spent the better part of the evening trying to wrap her head around the changed events and their implications. She had hoped to still her mind by reading one of her long-favorite stories by one of her most favorite authors. She glanced at the novel in her lap, and ran her fingers across the ragged binding. None of the lettering was visible. She sighed as she wondered at Helena's inability to keep her books in better condition. Had she not known the books so well she might never have realized what they represented when she saw the three volumes on the library shelf. She had selected the first volume and opened it to the title page – which was mostly missing. Being a fan of the author and the story itself were the only reasons she understood what "the Modern Prometheus" meant.

Still, she had no idea why she had brought the reading material into the garden. She wrapped her hands around the well-worn book whose cover she had yet to crack open again since she sat down. Maybe she did know why, afterall. The solid feel of it under her fingers provided a groundedness in the midst of her swirling thoughts.  _What am I going to do? I have no way to contact anyone. I have no way home._  She looked around at the night sky sighing as she took in the sight of the waxing moon. Everything was different. The past had been changed. She was never going home. This was her life, now. This was her home. Her time. She wrestled with what she saw as her only two choices. Neither of them appealed to her, but she knew she had to do something.

 _I could live my life, here, as Emma. But, she's not me and this isn't the life I would have chosen for myself. I don't know if I can do that._ Myka discarded the option to focus on the only other possible path – going home.  _But there isn't a way home, not really._ Somewhere in the recesses of her mind a theory began to force its way forward. It tried to take shape and find a foothold, but Myka kept trying to focus elsewhere. She tried not to acknowledge the thought, and did her best to push it away. She needed to concentrate on finding a way home. She needed a way to make it back to her time.  _There is only one way home._ She knew it would work, but she did not want to think about it. She needed another way.  _There is no other way._ She clawed desperately at anything and everything as she struggled for any other viable means.  _There is no other means. There is only one way. It's an unconventional method, but it's a way. It'll get me home._ She closed her eyes against the thought, but it exerted itself and she shuddered as the idea took a more formal shape in her mind.  _I need to find the Warehouse. I need to find it, and then I need to ask…_ she took a deep breath letting the inhalation of cool air wash through her as she considered the ramifications of the choice.  _I need to ask to be bronzed._

The thought, though terrifying in its own right, brought her a strange kind of comfort.  _At least I would eventually get back to my own time. I'd see my family again. My friends. My colleagues._  It was not her preferred solution.  _How could it be? It's not like I would be in my own body._  But it was the only option she knew beyond all doubt that would take her home. She mulled over the decision wondering how she would manage being awake and fully cognizant, though immobile, for more than a hundred years. She felt claustrophobic just thinking about it, so she turned her thoughts to a more practical concern – locating the current Warehouse or one of its agents.  _In 1893 the Warehouse would be in London. But where exactly in London?_ She had no idea. Never once had she actually bothered to learn the location.  _It's not like they'd advertise it. How am I going to find it? Who can I contact that would help me find it? Was there anyone?_ She recalled the names from case-files she'd read of the period, but she had no idea what agencies those individuals had been with prior to joining their Warehouse, or how she might go about finding them. She turned her thoughts to the details of the last case-file she read from the period.  _Stevenson and Davenport. Those were the agents listed on the last case-file… the one I was supposed to have been helping to investigate with Pete, but that wasn't until 1898. Five years into the future._ Myka gritted her teeth at the realization.  _Five years from now. I'd have to wait five whole years if I couldn't find it sooner. What am I going to do for five years? Live as Emma? Not much of an option. But at least it's still a solution._ Despite disliking the idea of it, at the very least she knew she had a definite way home, and for the first time since hearing the news about the Holmes arrest she felt as if order could be restored to her universe. She closed her eyes and sighed. She went over the details one last time and lost herself in her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Helena rounded the corner of the house and came to a stop as she spotted Emma seated in one of the ornate garden benches. She felt relieved at finding her, but was not prepared to see her set quite so beautifully. She inhaled sharply at the sight of her – the soft diffused light of the nearby gas-lamp shone in such as way as to make the lovely young woman appear even more angelic than usual. Helena's breath caught in her throat, and she emitted a soft noise, but Emma did not stir at the sound. Helena considered the beauty of the moment, wanting to burn the image into her memory. Seldom had she beheld such a stunning sight. If not for the way Emma clutched the old book in her hands, Helena would have thought the moment a serene one. She watched her – silently wondering what had so fiercely grabbed Emma's thoughts and stolen her away for so much of the day. Her thoughts began to stir.  _Say something. No. Why not? She's thinking. Obviously. I don't want to disturb her. You're afraid to disturb her. I am not! Then ask her if she's okay. Give me a moment! For what? I need to think! You need to act._ Helena shoved her thoughts away and hesitantly began walking toward the garden.

Myka kept her eyes closed and let her mind wander over the details of the Holmes case, and the lack of interest Helena showed once she learned Watson declared the case closed. She smiled softly to herself as she let the imagined conversation of what she would say to Helena upon her return play out in her mind. When she returned. Home. To tell Helena.  _Helena!_ Her mind screamed and her heart sank.  _Oh dear God._ Her thoughts had so preoccupied her; she had never even considered the ramifications of how the changed past might affect the future.  _I can go home again, yes, but who will be waiting for me when I get there?_  Her family would be waiting, and her friends – her colleagues from the Warehouse, but there was someone who might not be. Until that moment it had not occurred to her Helena might not actually be around anymore. The past had changed – dramatically. The case that had earned Helena an invitation by the Regents to become a Warehouse agent had been settled – solved by someone else. The artifacts Helena had recovered were still, effectively, in play but Helena would not be invited to join the staff of Warehouse 12. Not now, at any rate. And if she was not going to be an agent, then she would never end up bronzed. She would never be freed by MacPherson, and she would never become a part of her life.  _I'll never see her again._

Myka's mind reeled. She could go home, but she would be without her beloved.  _Could I do that? Could I leave her behind like that only to never see her again?_  For the first time she realized she might have a reason to stay in this life. In this time. As Emma.  _I can't leave Helena. I can't._  Myka considered the possibilities. Maybe she could take Helena with her through time. If they showed up at the Warehouse together, maybe they would both be allowed to be bronzed and moved through time. Maybe.  _That will never happen. They would need proof she belongs to the future, and she doesn't. Plus, Christina is still just an infant._ Tears stung her eyes as she accepted the impossibility. Introducing Helena to the Warehouse meant she was potentially robbing her of a life she might be able to live with happiness. With so much changed, Myka knew there was a possibility Christina might never be sent to France in the summer of 1899. Helena's daughter might never fall victim to the random violence that so carelessly took her life. Myka could not take that possibility away from the Helena of this time - not after knowing what all the suffering had done to her. Myka could not do that to her. And, more importantly, she realized she could never even tell Helena about any of it. If Myka chose to find the Warehouse and allowed herself to be bronzed as a means to finding her way back to her own time, Helena would never be allowed to know. Anguish gripped Myka's heart and she felt her breath falter in her chest.  _I can't. I can't leave her. I won't._ She opened her eyes and stared at the book in her hands. She gripped it tightly as the tears began to fall and she spoke to no one as she whispered her broken-hearted words upon the breeze, "Helena, I can't leave you. I love you too much."

 

* * *

 

Helena froze in her tracks.  _Did you hear that? I heard it. Well? Well what? Say something! She doesn't even know I'm here. So? So, she might not want to know I heard that. But you did hear it. I know! And? And nothing, go away!_ Helena turned to leave, but the slight movement drew the pensive woman's attention. Myka's heart leapt at the sight of her. "Helena!" She exclaimed.

The intruder steeled herself and valiantly pretended not to have heard the confession. "The last time I checked," came the cheeky reply. Helena turned back toward Myka walking slowly to the bench where she took a seat. "I didn't mean to disturb you, I just wanted to check on you – to see if you were alright. It's gotten rather late."

"Sorry, you – you just surprised me, is all." Myka gave her a small smile and then laughed. "And, yes, it is getting a bit late. I suppose I've been a little preoccupied tonight," she said.

"So I noticed," said Helena as she studied Myka's face. "Is everything okay?"

Myka looked back at her. She took in the darkened expression – looked into the beautiful breath-taking face clouded with so much concern. Myka considered the reality she knew and the possibilities before her. There was no telling what could happen over the coming years. "I'm fine," she lied unconvincingly. Helena furrowed her brow and the expression on her face told Myka she fooled no one. "I'm fine," she managed to say again before her voice broke.

"Emma," Helena's voice grew more intense. She moved herself closer and gently rested a hand on Myka's back. "Darling, what's wrong? Talk to me."

The feel of Helena's hand on her back made Myka close her eyes again. There was just too much emotion for her to bear. The fragility that always lay just beneath her hardened surface began to falter. The tears filled her eyes again. "I can't," she said resting her head against Helena's shoulder. "I can't." She wanted to say more, wanted to tell her everything, but she knew she could not find the words – and knew even if she could that she might influence Helena in ways leading to even worse ends than she had once met. Myka was between the proverbial rock and the hard place, and all she could do was weep for the life she was silently leaving behind. Each fallen tear took a piece of herself with it as it fell, until there was nothing of that life left to take. Helena moved her arm to draw her in even closer. Myka felt a hand gently brush back a stray lock of hair and she turned to face the woman she loved. She knew she could never be without Helena in her life – that she would sacrifice everything to be with her.

Helena's eyes darted back and forth as she fought desperately to understand what it was that so troubled the woman she had grown to love so deeply. She had studied her face, but knew enough not to speak any words. She simply held her close and let her cry as much as she needed to cry. But the sounds of the woman's grief threatened to break her heart. She felt Emma nestle into her neck as she continued whispering unintelligible words. Myka's body shook as the tears flowed, and Helena tightened her hold yet again. Her heart ached to see the vibrant woman so wracked with anguish. In the moment Helena wanted only one thing – to do whatever was necessary to make the tears stop. She leaned her head against the top of Myka's head, giving it an imperceptibly soft kiss before laying it against her, and she stroked the side of the distraught woman's face with her other hand. They sat like that, with Myka clinging to the comfort Helena brought her, until the tears eventually subsided and her breathing returned to normal. Helena stilled her right hand and let her left fall to a rest around Myka's waist as she waited for the other woman to break the silence. Together they stared out into the night and were each reminded, in their own way, of the last time they had shared such a moment.

The memory of the Ferris Wheel crept into Myka's mind and the simplicity of the thought coupled with the remembrance of the happiness - the acceptance of the love she felt… all of it sealed her decision. Myka pulled herself free from the intimate embrace to look Helena in the eye. Brilliant blue sapphires sparkled as they stared into Helena's face. Whatever Myka was looking to find, the faint smile passing across her lips let Helena know she had found it. That was when she reached out to touch Myka's face, and watched as Myka turned her face to purposefully brush her lips against the open palm. Helena's eyelids fluttered at the sensation and she felt her heartbeat quicken. It was an intimate touch and the emotional eyes staring back at her made it seem that much more meaningful.

 _She loves you. Yes. You love her. Yes. Then what are you waiting for? Nothing._  Without another thought Helena reached out with her right hand and pulled Myka toward her as her heart pounded in her chest. She held Myka's gaze as they drew nearer, and closed her eyes as she felt their lips begin to touch. They both hesitated, letting the moment register, and then Myka's arms encircled Helena's neck as she pressed herself into the kiss. Myka's pulse raced as she pulled them both upward. When they both finally stood, still locked in their kiss, they let their arms migrate around each other until they held to one another - clinging to each other as if the kiss was the very breath of life itself. Myka had not expected the kiss from Helena, but now that the line had been crossed she knew she wanted this more than anything she had ever wanted in her life. She had fought a long time, tooth and nail, against all the extreme emotions she felt for Helena. And in all that time it had never once occurred to her Helena might also be fighting such emotions of her own. If the possibility existed to spend the rest of her days not just loving, but also being loved by, the glorious woman in her arms – then it made the choice to stay something far less painful than the prospect had promised to be just moments before. She let her hands slide to the sides of Helena's face, inhaled the sweetness of her breath as their kiss began to deepen, and she felt her heart swell within her. Myka's decision was made. She loved H.G. Wells, and she knew she would love her the rest of her life – no matter the era.


	19. Vexations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka and H.G. explore the new, and somewhat erotic, boundaries of their relationship. (Please be advised of the Mature rating for this story).

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

 **S/N** : Please keep in mind the rating for this story is 'M'. Mature content may follow. For all the help with being a sounding board for this chapter - a very big thank you to my good friend, delightfullyambiguous (from Tumblr).

Chapter Nineteen, Vexations

(Chicago, IL – early morning, 22 May 1893)

The cool night air lovingly caressed the two enmeshed women urging them both onward – whispering in their ears to lose themselves in the mutual embrace. It was a suggestion they could not ignore. Myka's lips parted, ever so slightly, until Helena's tongue gently entwined with her own. It could not have been a more perfect kiss, and the moment was one neither woman was ever likely to forget. Myka let the book she held carelessly fall to the wayside. The sound of its impact upon the bench went completely unnoticed – the pounding in her chest and the feel of the woman against her were the only things holding her attention.

Her stomach fluttered chaotically at the feel of Helena's hands sliding up her back and down again to encircle her waist. Her own hands slid around Helena's arms urging her closer as she tried eliminating what little space remained between them. She had waited years for this moment, and could hardly believe it was finally unfolding. When Helena let her tongue flick upwards catching the underside of Myka's lip, she quivered uncontrollably. Each movement – each sweet intoxicating breath, coaxed her forward and helped separate the myriad of emotions brewing inside her. Myka needed this. She needed Helena. She needed the rescue from her broiling thoughts. She melted into the tenderness of the moment letting it wash over her, cleansing the anguish and leaving behind only one thing – a desperate growing hunger for the woman in her arms.

Myka placed her hands at Helena's wrists slowly letting them slide the length of the woman's arms again. They were slender arms, but were well-defined, and she gloried in the smooth feel of the thin silken robe beneath her palms as her hands continued their journey to Helena's shoulders and down her bodice. She swept past the swell of Helena's breasts, lingering only long enough to graze the pads of her thumbs across the already rigid peaks before dropping her hands to Helena's waist. The response was tantalizing. She wanted Helena as she had never wanted anyone in her life, and in the moment the recklessness inside her drove toward a far more pressing need – a need the growing heat between her thighs told her required a more suitable location. She pulled her hands up to cup Helena's face as she began drawing the kiss to a close.

Helena shuddered when she felt Myka's hands graze her against her chest. The exhilarating sensation disengaged her brain for the all-too-brief moment it had registered, and her whimpering protest escaped her before she could stop it. When the moment passed her mind came alive again with a vengeance.  _Aren't you forgetting something? Not now._  She pressed in harder against Myka's body.  _Yes, now. Why?_  Helena gripped Myka's shoulders and pulled her closer.  _You know why. Not right now I don't._  She felt Myka's hands on her face as the thought pressing in her mind tried to push its way forward.  _Aren't you the one who doubted me? The only thing I doubt is why you're still talking._ Helena surged forward as Myka tried to end the embrace. She wrapped her hands around Myka's waist pulling them tightly together and reignited the moment, with all the desire and wanting she had kept reigned inside for weeks, as she lustily raked Myka's lower lip between her teeth before crushing her lips with her own.

The unexpected forcefulness in Helena's renewal stole the very breath from Myka's lungs making her head swim with a pleasant sort of drunkenness. Every nerve ending in her body impossibly stood at attention under Helena's intensity, and she felt all resistance stripped away in the wake of the other woman's passion. Their second kiss lasted only moments, but it was long enough to let Helena's thoughts take center-stage again.  _I know what I think, but do you? It doesn't matter. It does to you. Not anymore._  Helena dipped her hands beneath Myka's vest tugging wildly at the underlying material until her efforts exposed bare skin.  _Don't you remember what Andrew said? SHUT UP!_  She placed the flat of her palms against Myka's lower back sliding her fingers just under the hem of Myka's trousers. The movement elicited a moan from deep within the other woman and the sound ripped through Helena like a hot knife through butter. She responded by slipping one hand even lower while she brought the other up to pull the rest of the material free.

 _Did you forget about Robert?_  Helena faltered in her movements.  _You're the one who has a problem with the fiancé! Damn her fiancé, damn Andrew, and damn you!_

Helena abruptly dropped her hands and turned her head. She stepped away as both women gasped for air guiltily running her fingers through her hair even as she turned to give the bewildered Myka an apologetic look. "Emma, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that." When the only response she got was a confused look she took a deep breath. "I'm not sorry for the kiss. I'll never be sorry for that."

"Neither will I. That was some kiss," Myka said appreciatively as she rubbed the back of her neck.

Helena noted the remark with a half-hearted grin before continuing. "But, as for the rest of it…" she paused to carefully choose her words. "You're not a free woman. I knew you were spoken for, and I shouldn't have…" she paused again. "I shouldn't have forgotten it. I'm sorry." She spoke truthfully knowing she should have remembered about Robert, but in the emotional intensity of the moment he had been the furthest thing from her mind. She looked down at her feet and sighed.

"What are you talking about?" Myka placed her hands on her hips and stared at Helena.

Helena shut her eyes. "Don't do that," she said quietly as she turned away. "Please don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Agitation filled Myka's voice.

"Don't pretend you're free." Helena waved her arm between them. "That you're free to do  _this_  when you're not. You never have been." She was not prepared for the hurt her own words elicited inside her. She wanted Emma to be free to follow-through with everything – whether or not there was a Robert, but she also knew if Emma made such a choice it would drastically change the way she thought of her. She cursed herself for wanting two conflicting things from the same person at the same time. The dilemma unsettled her.

"I'm… not free." Myka's spoke her question so slowly it sounded like a statement, and Helena's heart sank with what she took as an admission.

"I'm sorry, Emma." She apologized again. "Robert and you have a right to your future together. Andrew tells me the engagement is fairly recent, so you obviously love him."  _She loves you, too. I know, and that's why I'm doing this. Since when have you been so noble? I'm not. You're not? No. Then what are you? I'm in love. And that makes you noble? No, but it makes me care._ "You have my word _–_ I won't stand in your way." She gave her a quick glance before turning away. "I won't interfere with your happiness."

"Andrew… told you of the engagement." Myka's question again sounded like a statement. There was an awkward pause before she broke into uncontrollable laughter. Helena turned to her and scowled, but that only seemed to fuel whatever it was she found to be so funny.

"Are you laughing at me?" Helena's question sent Myka over the edge and all she could do was nod her reply as she continued to laugh so hard she could scarcely breathe.

"What on earth do you find so funny about all this?" Helena gave her a reproving glare. This only caused Myka to double over forcing her to use the nearby bench for support. Tears streamed from her eyes and she laid on her back with her knees bent as she tried to gasp for air.

"Andrew… and… Robert… AHAHAHA! Engagement…. HAHAHAHAHA!" Myka's utterances became a string of incoherent babble. Helena arched an eyebrow.

"What about them?" She asked her question tentatively and watched as Myka spilled into another fit of laughter. Realizing she was only making it worse she crossed her arms and stared at Myka waiting for the woman to come to her senses.  _She's adorable when she laughs like that. Shut it!_  A few minutes later a gasping and wheezing Myka slowly began complaining about the pain in her stomach muscles. She wiped at her tears between fading bits of laughter and tried to sit up wincing as she did so.  _Looks like that hurts. Good. Be nice. Be gone!_ "Are you finished? Everything okay now?" The tone of her voice revealed she was both annoyed and amused, and it nearly sent Myka into another fit.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just…" She wiped at her tears again. "Did you really think I was engaged all this time?"

"Well, yes. Aren't you?" Uncertainty filled Helena's voice.

Myka shook her head and wiped away the last of her tears. "God no! Robert asked, that much is true, but I never said  _yes_. I have absolutely  _no_  intention of marrying him." Myka looked up at her and smiled. "How could I, when I'm in love with someone else?"

Helena blinked at the reminder of her confession. "You're… not? Not engaged?" She was not sure if she was hearing her correctly.

Myka smiled and shook her head. "No. I'm not engaged. I'm free." She stood up and walked to face Helena taking her hands in her own to bring them to her lips. She kissed the palm of one hand. "Free to do whatever I want." She kissed the other palm. "With whomever I want." Myka fell silent but raised her eyes to Helena's and let her gaze linger. The meaning in her words were made that much more poignant by the meaning in her purposeful stillness.

"Oh," was the only thing Helena could think of to say. She shifted her weight uncomfortably as she tried not to be embarrassed by her erroneous assumption.  _Told you. Gloating! Rightfully so. Quiet!_ Helena calmed her inner-thoughts and laced her fingers with Myka's. She was free. They were both free. She looked up at her. "I'm freezing," she said honestly. "Let's go inside."

Myka gave her another smile and nodded her agreement. She picked up the book and walked hand-in-hand with Helena into the house. "I just need to put this back," she held it up and began pulling Helena away from the stairs toward the library. Helena let herself be dragged along relishing the feel of the newfound intimacy between them as they kept their hands interlaced. "Honestly, Helena, could you do something for me?" Myka stopped their movement as they stood before a bookshelf.

"Anything, darling." Helena smiled at her. "What is it you wish for me to do?"

"Please, for the love of all that his holy," Myka began. "Please learn to take better care of your books?" She held up the novel in her hand. "This is a first edition, Helena. A first edition. Of Shelley. A first edition of Mary Shelley. Seriously." She gave her a stern look and reached up to place the volume back in its place in the bookshelf.

Helena gave her a small smile. "I can't promise anything, but…" Her words were cut off as Myka whirled around.

"No!" She exclaimed. "Promise me. You have to promise me! No more abusing your poor books!"

This time Helena laughed. "If it means that much to you, yes. I'll take better care of my books." She glanced around the room. "Though I must say it does not often cross my mind to worry about their condition when I'm in the middle of research."

"I know," Myka said. "I've watched you work. Let's start small. For now, stop dog-earing the pages and use a bookmark. Deal?"

Helena gave her an odd look. "A bookmark? Why would I do that when I can just turn the…" Her voice faded under Myka's icy stare. "Fine. I'll use a bookmark." Myka gave her a happy smile and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. Helena grinned and let herself be dragged toward the stairs. They made their way to the second floor with Myka chiding her about other bad book-habits she had, and Helena pretended to think it was all just as serious as Myka seemed to think it was - agreeing with various suggestions and recommendations as they walked. Only the twinkle in her eye, caught by Myka as the crossed the bedroom's threshold and shut the door behind them, gave her away for the fraud that she was.

"Liar!" Myka playfully exclaimed. "You have no intention of making book covers for all of them!"

Helena feigned indignation. "I believe your accusation to be wholly unfounded, madam! And decidedly unconscionable, to boot!"

Myka took in Helena's expression and her heart melted. She could feel nothing but love for the incredible woman whose perfect face and coltish spirit she adored. She would just have to take care of the books herself. The idea of it filled her with a strange sort of melancholy as she began to ache for the life they were going to share. She adored the imagery in her mind, and she knew it was because she loved the perfectly sculpted artisan with her mischievous grin and her ridiculously seductive voice. She felt the old familiar stirring within her body, and felt lightheaded as she began to finally let her mind run through the kiss in the garden. She wanted more. She needed more. Too much anguished emotion still clung to her heart, and she had no way to drive it away. She needed Helena to do that for her. Needed her to give her something other than her own confusion and doubt over the choice she was making.

Helena hung her robe on the bureau door and pulled back her bedcovers to step into them, but Myka took her by the hand and pulled her close. "Not yet," she said and brought their lips together again for a brief kiss. Her mind could hardly believe she could so casually kiss Helena after all this time. It was as if they had always been together, as if they had never tried to keep themselves from their feelings. She could not recall why she ever denied herself the simple pleasure of the emotional honesty, and all the benefits it would have wrought, before now.

Myka grabbed her bedclothes from the bureau and turned around to face Helena. She gave her a wry smile, and instead of walking to the dressing screen, she walked toward the bed where she set the articles down. "I still need to change my clothes." She looked down at the buttons on her vest and made sure Helena's eyes followed. "Care to help me?" Her heart raced again to see the desire so evident on the other woman's face. Myka took Helena's hands in her own placing them against the front of her vest as she leaned in for yet another taste of the sumptuous lips. This time it was she who traced her tongue on the inside of the other woman's lip before letting the fullness of their mouths meet. The sensation brought unfamiliar sounds from each of them and Helena's hands moved to caress the outline of Myka's chest until she could feel the reward from her efforts beneath the fabric.

Myka moaned into her mouth as Helena teased at the raised flesh and both women luxuriated in the way their mutual sounds rippled through them. It was nothing short of spectacularly wanton desire – each woman giving in to the throbbing aching need filling their bodies and pooling between their thighs. The inventor pulled back gasping for much needed air, took one look at Myka, and leaned back in to leave a trail of kisses against her neck as her hands furiously worked at the buttons. Myka swooned under the feel of the pressure against her neck, at the nipping and licking just under her ear, and she wrapped her fingers in Helena's dark silky tresses indicating she wanted more. The vest came open seconds later, but the shirt's buttons were more involved than Helena's frenzied hands could maneuver. Before Myka had a chance to help her with them she felt the material suddenly freed from her body as the sound of ripping material accompanied by the plinking of flying buttons let her know Helena had torn the shirt open from top to bottom. "Helena!" She exclaimed in genuine shock. "My shirt!"

"I'll buy you another one." The feral tone in Helena's breathy voice sent shivers down her spine. It was the sound of unbridled physical desire, and knowing it was all for her caused Myka's knees to buckle. Yes. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed. She groaned as Helena grazed her teeth down the skin of her neck and dipped her mouth to the newly exposed curve of her breasts, and she brought her hands to Helena's back where she unthinkingly began to claw at the material. Helena's hands fell away and seconds later she pulled herself back to discard her clothing. She completely disregarded her own nudity, but Myka's head nearly exploded at the realization. They were really going to make love to one another. Right here. Right now. She propelled herself forward feeling Helena's hands cup her breasts and quickly moved to free her bra as they walked toward the bed while they mutually lost themselves in another kiss. Myka needed more. She shrugged her shoulders and let her garments fall to the floor before pushing Helena backward upon the bed climbing in next to her without letting her lips go.

It took her more than a few minutes to realize the wetness against her thigh was not her own. She broke the kiss by looking down into Helena's dilated eyes. Her breathing began to steady as the two women stared at one another drinking in each other's forms with thirsty eyes. "Is this really happening?" Myka heard herself ask.

Helena smiled. "Yes. Unless you don't want it to?" She reached up and placed a lock of hair behind Myka's ear who leaned into the feel of her hand upon her face.

"Oh, I want it to!" Her words came out so emphatically that Helena's smirk made her blush. "I just mean…" her voice faltered slightly as she thought of every time she had ever had to stifle her desire. "I've wanted this – you, for so very long."

Helena's smirk faded and she inhaled deeply at the newest confession. Her heart swelled within her and she rose just long enough to pull Myka back down on top of her before pivoting her to the side. She moved one hand to Myka's hip and gently pushed against it to roll her onto her back, and then covered her stomach with sweet gentle kisses as she let her hand work at unfastening Myka's trousers. When the clasp was undone she curled her fingers around the hem and used the tip of her tongue to burn a mark from Myka's navel to the swell of her breast. She kissed and suckled at the curve and licked hungrily at the underside even as she began maneuvering the trousers from Myka's hips. She smiled into the flesh as she let her tongue guide her to the other breast, and intended to move away only long enough to quickly discard the trousers when Myka raised her hips. But when the trousers hit the floor she found herself overwhelmed by the vision of their nude bodies.

Helena raised herself to stare down into Myka's smiling face. She had never imagined she might find herself in bed with another woman, but there was nowhere in the world she would rather have been than with this woman she loved so passionately. She knew she wanted Emma, knew she would give herself to her, but until tonight it had only been a passing thought – one she tried not to entertain too often for fear of being swept away in the imagining. She smiled softly as Myka raised her hand and brought it gently to her face. The prone woman raised herself to bring their lips together again, and Helena smiled inwardly thankful for Emma's boldness.

The feel of Helena's lips against her own continued to stoke the fire burning within Myka's body. For two years she had dreamt of what this moment would be like – what it would feel like to lose herself in this glorious being. For two years she had struggled with the passion that grew within her from their first meeting until now. Two long emotional years. But here they were sharing themselves with one another, and Myka's heart felt ready to burst from all the emotional upheaval. Helena leaned into Myka's kiss and the added pressure gently parted their lips. Never had she felt anything softer than the malleable flesh dancing against her own lips.

She could kiss Helena forever, but her body wanted more. Much more. She moved her hands to Helena's chest and let her palms glide roughly across the exposed supple flesh. Helena whimpered when Myka brought her fingers together, slightly pinching the hardened points as she rolled them between her fingers.

Helena broke the kiss and her head fell forward onto Myka's shoulder. The sounds she made lifted Myka's body and she lowered her hands to grab Helena's hips pulling her until they were positioned where she wanted her; then she pulled again until she felt Helena's mound connect with her own and she raised her hips to revel in it. The friction was electric sending sparks shooting through her body making her gasp so loudly Helena broke from the moment.

And then suddenly Helena's leg was between her own, her thigh pressing inward as Myka rocked her hips against it. Yes. This. She whimpered shuddering with each pass, leaving slickened evidence of her unquenched desire upon the artisan's thigh. Helena fought with all her strength to maintain her composure. She kept her thigh where Myka wanted it – needed it, but bent herself so she could suckle at Myka's breast. The dual sensation sent Myka into a frenzy. Her hips began to buck and she pressed herself into Helena even as she pulled Helena into her. It was not enough. It was nowhere near enough. Her frustrated complaints and desperate pleas registered fully in Helena's ears prompting her to let her slender hand make its way from the heaving chest to the taught abdomen held so tightly against her. She allowed the inside of her palm to roughly forge a path down the length of Myka's entire body until, at last, she found the source of Myka's tension between her trembling legs.

She curled her fingers downward, moving through the soft fine hairs, sending the prone woman's body into spams as she applied pressure to the lazy circles she made. The woman was positively sopping wet, and Helena lost all concentration at the realization. She could think of nothing other than her partner's pleasure. Nothing else mattered. It never even occurred to her to compare the moment to her experiences with men. In the moment, none of those men ever existed. No one else would ever exist. She did not even have the presence of mind to think of her own longing. Her own need for release. She was driven wholly toward one purpose now – Myka's ecstasy. So it came as no surprise that she responded automatically when Myka began to beg.

"God, please," she whispered. "Please." She grasped frantically at Helena's hand and pressed herself against it with all her strength. "I need you inside of me. Please." Her hips rocked furiously. "Please, Helena, I need to feel you inside of me." Even if Helena knew what to say, she was robbed of the capacity for speech by the intensity of Myka's need. She could think nothing. Could say nothing. She operated on instinct alone, and her instinct drove her to action. She repositioned herself and let her fingers lower until they slipped into the molten heat flowing from between Myka's thighs. Helena gasped at the feel of it – the slick, slippery, thickness of the fluid covering her hand. Her heart pounded with such force she thought it might break through her chest. The sound of each heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears mixing with Myka's soft moans and drowning out any other sound. "Please," the whisper bore into her again and she complied without hesitation. She dipped her fingers pressing slightly in until she felt the opening she needed. It felt nothing like she thought it would, but the thought left her mind as quickly as it appeared, and she pressed inward again until she felt a resistance she had not expected at the same time she felt Myka tense. It was too much pressure against her in-tact hymen.

 _Fuck! Not bloody likely. Not what I meant. Just checking._  Helena pulled her hand away. She had not expected this, and she silently berated herself for not having thought about it before now.  _Seriously? Seriously. It never occurred to you? Did it ever occur to you? Point taken. Good._ Myka shifted and complained at the withdrawal. "What's the matter?"

"You've never," Helena hesitated, and paused to find the right words. "You're, uhm, uh. In-tact."

Myka sighed. Yes, she had forgotten Emma's virginal state – something she self-discovered not long after arriving in her body. "And that's a problem?" Myka was genuinely confused as to why it might matter – hardly anyone in the Victorian era was as chaste as history would have had people believe. Helena was certainly proof of that.

"No," she said before correcting herself. "Yes, well, not exactly." Helena rolled to her side and gave Myka a long gentle kiss, letting her tongue part their lips and inhaling the taste of Myka as if she were ambrosia. She spoke softly when she finally let the kiss end. "I just want to know that you're sure. You waited this long, it obviously means something to you. And I just don't think you should be making this choice like this." She cut off Myka's protest. "Not like this, not 'in the moment', as it were. It needs to be a decision I know you've made, not a spur of the moment choice influenced by active passions." Helena rose from the bed and took her gown from the floor. She quickly slipped it on ignoring the negating arguments Myka tried to make. She grabbed her robe from the bureau and finished dressing.

"Where are you going?" Myka asked suddenly aware that Helena was dressing to leave.

"Well I can't stay in here tonight." Helena responded in a tone that assumed Myka understood her reasons.

"Why not?" Myka propped herself up on her side and furrowed her brow. She did not like the idea of Helena sleeping elsewhere.

"Because, darling, if I stay in this room…" Helena finished tying her belt before looking up to address her. She took in the sight of Myka's body and inhaled sharply. She felt a surge inside her body – a clear indication that her desire was far from sated. The predatory look on her face matched the tone in her voice when she finished her answer. "I'm afraid I'll eat you alive."

"Where will you go?" Myka sat up and pulled the bedcovers around her. She suddenly felt overly exposed.

"I'll go sleep on the couch." Helena walked toward the door. "But don't worry, my dear. We'll settle this issue for good tomorrow." She opened the door and stepped through, but poked her head back into the room before turning to leave. "By the way," she said as she gave Myka a wicked look. Sure she had her attention, she brought her fingers to her mouth before drawing her tongue along the length of one she had just used. "You're delicious." And with that coy assurance making it clear she still wanted her, Helena turned and walked downstairs leaving them both to stew in their mutual frustrations.


	20. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H.G. and Myka get a night alone, but only after Charles learns the truth.

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Twenty, Revelations

  


(Chicago, IL – morning, 22 May 1893)

 

When Myka awoke mid-morning she found Mrs. Godswine perched next to her on Helena's pillow. She smiled as she scratched the pretty feline behind the ears causing her to purr. "Helena would be furious if she could see you right now." Mrs. Godswine appeared to disregard the thought as she raised a paw to indifferently begin grooming herself. Myka laid back against her own pillow and contentedly recalled the previous night's events. She could hardly believe the images in her mind were actual memories – that there were  _real_  remnants of the glorious physicality she had  _honestly_  shared with Helena. It was a difficult blissfulness to grasp, and she was infinitely grateful it had not been just another fantasy.

Despite the exceedingly frustrated state in which she had been left, she felt peaceful and happy. If last night was just the start of what her life with Helena would be like, she knew she could exist in this time, with her, whether it would be for five years or fifty. She pulled up her covers to sink into the loveliness of the thought and turned to her side to revel in the thought, but something on the nightstand caught her eye. She raised herself up to look finding three new shirts of the same style Helena had ruined the night before – each of a different color. Affixed to one of them, by a pin, was a handwritten note. Myka smiled and ran her fingers over the lettering; it was from Helena

_My dearest darling,_

_I trust you will find these to be suitable replacements for your beloved garment. I chose the same style and size, but thought you might enjoy a sampling of the available colors._

_Yours,_

_H.G._

_P.S. I hope you're hungry!_

Myka, grinning ear to ear, pulled all three shirts off the nightstand. It captivated her to no end that Helena would make good on her promise so quickly, and it warmed her heart to realize it was the same thoughtfulness with which Helena had once gifted her the grappling device she had personally handcrafted. It was a simple reminder, she knew, but it meaningfully hinted that the Helena she knew and loved from her own time was rooted in the person she had come to know and love in this one. She kept the welcome thought with her as she rose from the bed to begin her day.

 

* * *

 

(mid-morning)

 

Helena hummed a delightfully bright tune as she busied herself in the kitchen. She had risen early to shop and returned home in time to prepare a fitful mid-morning meal. She was just beginning to plate the last of the dishes when her brother, Charles, entered the room. "Good morning, Charlie, how was your evening?" She smiled sweetly at him and leaned over placing a kiss on his cheek before picking up a pan to transfer its contents into a large serving bowl.

"Good morning to you, too, and my evening was delightful." Charles said whilst rubbing the kiss off his cheek and giving her a quick once-over. "And don't call me Charlie, you know I hate it." He assessed her slightly tilting his head and took in her humming, her pleasantry, and the smile on her face. "So what's his name then?"

"Hmm?" Helena looked up at him. "What's whose name?"

"Whomever you've set your sights on, dear sister!" He folded his arms as he spoke. "I know you better than anyone, and I know you never give me a kiss," he pointed at her. "Or call me Charlie, unless there's love in the air. So out with it, what's the poor chap's name?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, picking up the bowl and placing her apron on the counter. "There's nothing wrong with giving my dear beloved baby brother a kiss, and I call you Charlie to annoy you. Thought you'd have figured that out by now."

He harrumphed and walked past her heading into the dining room. Seeing the amount of food she had prepared caused him to exclaim. "Good God! Did you really make  _all_  of this?"

"Indeed!" She answered back. "Go ahead and eat if you're hungry."

He dropped his paper on the table and turned to her. "Helena? Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh come off it, Charlie, you know I love to cook." Helena continued her humming and began walking the last of the meal she had prepared to the table.

"Well, yes, but it's…  _morning_ ," he noted.

"Shush, now." She said pointing to a chair. "Go on and sit. I've made some of Mum's old recipes"

"Now I  _know_  there's something up." He put his hand on a chair but did not pull it out to sit. "Tell me. Who is it? Who's stolen my sister's heart?" He waited for an answer, but the only one he got was seeing his sister's face light up as she lifted her head to look into the distance. He turned just in time to catch a glimpse of their lovely russet-haired houseguest walking down the stairs; it started him thinking about the last few weeks.

Looking back at Helena a few moments later, still seeing the starry-eyed look upon her face, he could not help but break out into an ear-to-ear smile. When he finally spoke again it was with a genuinely tender-heart as he softly said, "Well-done, sister. I think she's extraordinary." He turned, leaning over the chair, as he watched Emma make her slow descent. "And exquisite, too," he added appreciatively with a low whistle. A half a second later he felt Helena smack him in the back of the head. "Ow!" he complained and turned laughing in her direction. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" He rubbed the back of his head. "In all honesty, I hope the two of you are very happy," he leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. "She's perfect for you. And you are the most amazing woman I know – you deserve nothing but happiness."

The loving comment, more than the kiss on the cheek he gave her, caused her to blush slightly and uncharacteristically falter for words. She knew she could not have asked for a better reception to the news than the one she had just received – so instead of addressing it she set the dish in her hand on the table saying, "Come on, eat up. There's bubble and squeak in this one!"

"Ooh! My favorite!" He exclaimed rubbing his hands together greedily as he sat. Helena tousled his hair affectionately drawing a fleeting scowl in return. As much as they annoyed each other sometimes, she truly did love her brother and the closeness of their deceptively fierce bond.

Helena smirked walking into the kitchen to retrieve the last item for the table – the orange juice she had prepared. She lifted the pitcher just as Myka entered the room. "Good morning, Emma, did you sleep well?" Only the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth hinted at the intentional state in which she had left her just hours before.

"Only after I had to finish what you  _didn't_!" Myka narrowed her eyes as she spoke and leaned against the countertop.

Helena pursed her lips trying to keep her crooked smile from growing, but the mischievous grin appeared in spite of her considerable efforts. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean." She fluffed the back of her hair with one hand and lifted the pitcher with the other as she donned an unconvincingly innocent look. "Juice?"

"Yeah, juice," Myka said, her eyes still narrowed. "After all those fluids you helped me lose, the least you can do is help me replenish them!" Helena choked at the statement motioning with her eyes toward the dining room.

Thinking they were speaking of Myka's illness and recovery, Charles remarked between mouthfuls of his breakfast, "But she did a great job taking care of you afterwards, didn't she?"

Myka's eyes went wide with the horrified realization they were not alone. Helena held up the pitcher, along with her eyebrows, and nodded toward the dining room as she led the way into the other room. Myka followed shaking her head at Charles' inadvertent joke – her lips tucked beneath her teeth as she attempted to keep from laughing. "Oh, wow," she said ardently looking at the spread of food across the table.

Helena smiled broadly. "I thought we'd have a Full English Breakfast, darling." She set the pitcher on the table. "I hope you like it."

"Breakfast?" Myka said looking toward the clock. She took her seat near Helena and reached for the pitcher. "Don't you mean brunch?"

"Issat?" Charles spoke as he chewed. Both women looked at him and then to each other.

"He's asked 'what's that'?" Explained Helena before glaring at her brother. It was a useless action; he was too busy looking under the lids of the other dishes to notice and had grown excited when he found another favorite.

"Brunch?" Myka looked between them. "You know 'let's do brunch?'" When she received only quizzical stares in response she clarified. "Breakfast plus lunch is brunch – that meal you sometimes have instead of eating both?"

"Mmph! Ahl eyekit" he exclaimed between forkfuls of mushrooms.

Helena glared at him before turning toward Myka to translate again, but Myka grinned saying, "That one I caught."

"Yes, terribly sorry, poor manners," Charles apologized as he wiped his mouth with his napkin before giving her a rakish grin. "But I dare say you Americans can certainly turn a phrase. I quite like that one!"

"Really, Charles," scolded Helena. "I think the last thing you need to do is encourage such language atrocities." She muttered "brunch indeed" under her breath as she reached for Myka's plate.

Charles glanced at his sister before leaning over to whisper conspiratorially to Myka, "I'll have to find a way to work that little gem into a novel one day." She grinned at him having no idea she had just introduced a word that would one day become part of the common vernacular.

Charles took careful note of all the furtive looks – and subtle flirtations, the two women shared, but neither woman had eyes for anyone but each other. When Andrew and Penny eventually joined them, it seemed a festive occasion not unlike a holiday celebration. The free and easy conversation flow sent Myka into another state of melancholy longing, and not even the news that Andrew and Penny would be returning to their home that afternoon seemed to register. Myka paid none of it any attention. She simply rested her chin in her hand watching Helena serving the meal, and sighed happily knowing this was just the first of many such future breakfasts she would eventually share with the people she was finally coming to accept as family.

 

* * *

 

(late afternoon)

 

Hours had passed since Helena had gone into town on an errand, while Myka and Charles stayed behind to assist Andrew and Penny for their departure. They left shortly after the large meal and were only satisfied at Myka's refusal to accompany them when Charles inexplicably interjected that she was to accompany him to the Expo for the closing of some sort of Women's Congress that evening. Considering his misogynistic comment the first time they ever met, she stood dumbstruck as he explained what the presence and attendance throughout the previous seven days had been. When he mentioned Susan B. Anthony had given a lecture earlier in the week she nearly shouted an obscenity. Myka would have given anything to hear the famous suffragist in person, and she immediately regretted not having paid more attention to the events happening around her.

By the time Helena had returned it was approaching late afternoon, and Myka did not even know she was back until after Charles found her in the library. "Oh, good, you're in here." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe. Myka looked up from the pile of books she had created lining the desk and nearby floor-space as he continued. "I was hoping to…" he paused when he realized she had cleaned out three of the bookcases. "What  _are_  you doing?"

"Oh," she said realizing how it might have looked. "I'm just cleaning and arranging. I got bored."

He chuckled and walked over to one of the piles. "I never have understood her inability to appreciate a fine text," he said picking up a severely neglected book. The contents slid out from the disembodied covering; its pages splattered against the floor causing Myka to wince.

"Which one was that?" She asked in a small voice.

He glanced at the title on the binding and squinted his eyes. "Looks like something by someone named Vint Mill. Never heard of him." He set the book's casing down and reached for the papers, but stopped when he saw the contorted look on Myka's face. "What's the matter?"

"Did you say Vingt Mille? As in…" she broke into a perfect French phonetic enunciation of the famous title, "Vohn me lee-use sue lay mare?"

He blinked. "Oh not you, too," he said shaking his head as he looked down to grab a fistful of the scattered papers.

"Not me, too, what?" she answered back. She did not like the tone in his voice.

"French." He said standing up attempting to shuffle the pages together. "Just like my sister. In fact," he peered at a page he clutched in his hand. "This whole bloody  _thing_  is in French!"

The declaration seemed to confirm something for Myka and she stood up to help gather the pages. Grimacing at the way he was trying to stuff the pages back together, she asked "May I?" before gingerly taking them from his hand to carefully lay them on one of the stacks of books. Sure they were safe, she bent down to gather the rest of the pages. So intent was she on her task, taking the greatest of care with what she was sure would turn out to be yet another famous first-edition, she nearly missed the comment Charles made.

"I can see how the two of you make sense." He leaned back against the desk watching her while she attempted to place the pages in their proper order. It took her a few moments, but his statement eventually registered, and she looked up at him quizzically. "My sister and you." She said nothing. "Together." She gave him a blank stare. "As a couple?" He shot his eyebrows up with his question as if to ask her why she did not understand his words.

"Oh," she said softly and went back to putting the pages together, but her concentration was ruined and she began piling the pages together both upside-down as well as backwards. Any hope she had of trying to sidestep the issue was horribly lost when she blushed profusely floundering for a response. "I, uhm," she searched frantically for something to say. "I don't really know what you m…"

"My dear Miss Cigrand. Emma," he corrected himself. "I'm not one to pass judgment on such things. My sister's happiness is all that concerns me." Myka stopped shuffling papers, but did not look up. "If the two of you are as in love as I think you are, then all I ask is you do nothing to harm her standing within the community." She looked up at him. "And that you never break her heart. Helena is a strong woman, but," he gave her a steady stare. "The truth is, Emma, my sister has far more fragility to her than might seem apparent at first glance."

"I know," Myka's response sounded defensive. She took a deep breath thinking about the Helena she knew and all the pain and anguish through which her beloved time-traveller had suffered. She repeated herself. "I know." The words came out as a whisper.

He nodded, though she did not see it, and said, "Then you will understand me when I say again – do not hurt her. I don't think either of us would like the conversation we might otherwise have." Myka arched an eyebrow as it dawned on her what he was trying to convey. Despite the implication of his words, and the lack of necessity for them – if anyone's heart was at risk she knew it was her own, she respected his protectiveness knowing he was acting out of love for his sister.

Before she could respond to him, a flurry of activity drew their attention in the direction of Charles' feet. Mrs. Godswine had appeared near the bottom of a fourth bookshelf and was trying to abscond with a bundle of scattered pages. Charles reached out to catch her but she escaped behind the bottom row of books from which she had apparently emerged. He reached in and grabbed her by the scruff, but she had already dropped the pages. A few moments later he uncovered her hidden nest where she had secreted a rather large collection of shredded and half-eaten papers, trinkets, and what may or may not have once been a sock. The cat was decidedly put out at having her private treasures so unceremoniously exposed and she huffed out of the room with both her fur and her tail unhappily poofed.

Myka, laughing at the cat's antics along with Charles, retrieved the stolen pages and quickly placed them with the others. The seriousness of the previous conversation now passed, the two proceeded to refill the bookcases with the newly arranged order Myka had lain out for them. It took about an hour for them to finish the task, and as the last few books went on their shelf Helena strode into the room. "It's dinner time! And I have a special treat for you, Emma!" The smile on her face matched the one in her voice.

"Why didn't you say something?" Myka chided her. "I'd have helped!"

" _That's_  why you wouldn't let us come out?" Charles asked. "You were making dinner?"

"What's done is done," Helena answered smugly. "Come along then! No dawdling!" She swept out of the room just as she had entered and the two followed behind her eager to know what she had drummed up this time.

As they reached the dining area Charles said, "It smells wonderful, I'm absolutely famished!" But he pulled up short at the nearly imperceptible shake of Helena's head. He glanced at the dinner table. Two place settings. And candles. He continued, "Which is… why I am… going to leave early enough…" he flashed a wink to Helena. "To enjoy dinner with the other attendees at tonight's meeting. I'm sorry I won't be able to join you ladies, but I want to make sure I get there in plenty of time. Have fun you two!" And with that he turned on his heels, grabbed his coat and hat from the hallway, and headed for the front door. He called out, "Don't wait up, I'll be home late.  _Very_  late," and then he was gone.

Myka watched him leave and turned back with a slightly confused look on her face. When she finally noticed the table – the fine linens, setting for two, lit candles, and the fresh flowers, she realized what had just happened. "Dinner for two, hmm?" She leaned in giving Helena a long full kiss before breaking it to whisper in her ear. "It's about time we were alone."


	21. Insatiable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H.G. and Myka enjoy a romantic dinner for two, but the dessert Myka wants is not on the menu

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

 **A/N** : Please keep in mind the rating for this story - 'M'. Mature content may follow. Thank you, again, to delightfullyambiguous (from Tumblr) without whose help this chapter would not be what it is.

 

Chapter Twenty-one, Insatiable

(Chicago – evening, 22 May 1893)

 

Helena felt the hairs on her neck and arms rise to attention under Myka's gravely words. The unexpected kiss, followed by the whisper in her ear, gave Helena the worst case of goose-bumps she could ever recall having. Inhaling the beautiful woman's scent, and feeling the closeness of their bodies, began to make her wish she had not gone to all the trouble of the surprise dinner waiting for them. Without thinking she reached out to encircle her beloved's waist with her arms. She drew her in against her body and felt the other woman shudder when she placed her lips against her neck with a light nip. She let her tongue flick out to soothe the spot and her voice came out low and breathy. "God, I want you."

The confession drew a loud exhalation from Myka who melted into the embrace. She pulled her hands up, letting them drag across Helena's back, to place them at the sides of her face. She tried turning Helena's head for a kiss, but the other woman tutted pulling her hands away. "First things first." She pulled away and looked at Myka through hooded eyes as she spoke, but her expression was clear. She had a definite agenda in mind, and it was meant to start with their candlelit dinner. "I hope you like it," she said pulling Myka toward the table where she pulled out a chair for her to sit. "I wasn't exactly clear on the concept, but I believe I have all the correct ingredients."

Myka sighed and took her seat wishing, not for the first time, that Helena had less self-control. "Well it smells lovely," she said, scooting herself closer to the table. "If it's anything like the other meals you've made, I'm sure it will be incredible!" She meant the declaration whole-heartedly. If nothing else, Myka had come to appreciate the many talents of H.G. Wells. She was not just a brilliant mind and ingenious inventor, but showed amazing culinary aptitude. If she did not know better, Myka would have thought Helena considered her kitchen to be akin to her laboratory. Something about the image of Helena standing over a concoction adding spices or ingredients called to mind one of her old science professors who would prattle endlessly about the beauty of methodology and the art of mixing chemicals.

Myka placed her napkin in her lap and waited patiently for Helena to take her seat. As the woman did so she said, "Un voilà!" and began lifting the lids from dishes revealing a large bowl of wide-noodled pasta, a medium bowl filled with large cuts of fatty meat – and a variety of smaller bowls containing scrambled eggs, peas, carrots, mushrooms, and thick-cut slices of cheese. She tilted her head wondering what it was Helena had made. Going over the various dishes on the table, she put them all together in her mind; then it dawned on her. She had attempted to make the one meal she had mentioned wanting – pasta carbonara. Myka looked up at Helena who beamed proudly back at her and began filling their plates. "I do hope this turned out properly," she said lifting noodles onto Myka's plate.

"I'm sure it's fine," Myka's smile could not have been more filled with love. Helena was positively sweet to have gone to all the trouble, and the romantic gesture touched her deeply.

"Darling, would you open the wine?" Helena shifted her eyebrows and nodded her head toward the center of the table. Myka followed her eyes to the two wine bottles, one white and one red, along with a strange looking metallic tool she assumed to be a corkscrew.

"Which would you prefer?" She asked reaching for the corkscrew.

"I couldn't decide which might go better with the meal," Helena answered. She continued to add ingredients to Myka's plate. "Which did you prefer in your family?"

Myka looked at the bottles. "My mother tended to choose white," she said reaching for the other bottle. "But I always preferred red."

"Splendid!" Helena exclaimed. "I enjoy a good Merlot from time to time, and I think it will do nicely for tonight." Myka nodded and proceeded to work the strange brass tool into the cork. The object's handle was not exactly a handle. It had a large eyelet with two small curved protrusions on either side, with the spiral for the cork centered just under the eyelet. It took her a few tries before she realized the eyelet was meant to hold her two inner fingers and the protrusions were meant for her outer ones. She situated her hand appropriately and pulled. The cork came loose on the third try.

"I'll just let it breathe," she said and set everything back on the table. She leaned forward to take her now full plate from Helena's hand watching as Helena filled her own plate in the exact same way – minus a visit to the bowl of carrots. Myka's mind switched gears as she watched, and she shifted her body uncomfortably in her chair. The conversation they still needed to have began playing out in her mind, and she wondered what it would take to convince Helena she was ready – more than ready, to move forward. How was it ever going to be possible to explain the yearning she had kept at bay for so long without giving away the one secret she knew she could never reveal? She did not have an answer to the question, and busied her mind with alternate ways to convey whatever it was Helena needed to hear. If she got it wrong, she was afraid they might never get beyond the issue at hand.

She watched Helena set her own plate down, and her mouth fell open as Helena licked her lower lip oblivious to the effect it had on Myka who shut her eyes in response. The imagery playing upon her eyelids would have had her pull herself across the table to devour Helena's mouth with her own. "Is something wrong?" The lilting British tone broke her from her thought.

When Myka opened her eyes to show she was perfectly fine, or as close to fine as she could be under the circumstances, Helena smiled. "Pass me the bottle, will you? I'll pour." Myka complied without objection watching silently as the two glasses filled with the dark red liquid. Helena handed one back looking at her expectantly. Myka took it thinking she was about to propose a toast, but Helena said nothing giving her only a toss of her hair followed by a single raised eyebrow to accompany the seductive smile she wore as she raised her glass. Myka raised her glass silently in return, and they both took a sip of the mild-natured wine.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, each woman finishing a first glass of wine, until Helena looked up from her plate. "Emma," she said. Helena looked up at her pausing mid-air wiggling a fork full of pasta as if to gesture between them. "I'm not quite sure I understand this."

"What's that?" Myka took a long swallow from her second glass of wine, unsure if she was ready for the conversation. She had no doubt whatsoever about wanting to be with Helena in every meaning of the word, but she was not sure she could convince Helena that the very real desire had nothing to do with the heat of the moment – and everything to do with wanting to  _create_  a heat-filled moment.

"You say you crave this?" Helena put the fork down and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before taking a sip from her own glass.  _Holy crap!_  She thought.  _Way to just ease right into the conversation!_ Myka drained the rest of her glass. She immediately poured another one.

"Uhm," she gripped the stem of her liquid courage. "Y-yes. Yes, I have craved this with you." Raising her eyes, she caught Helena's which were staring intently back at hers. She noted the furrowed brow and the slightly less-than-convinced look in her expression. "For a  _very_  long time. I don't know why you question this."

Helena appeared to consider her answer before responding. "Only, I don't think it's very good, do you?" Myka blinked. Then the panic set in.  _What does that mean?! Does she think I'm a bad kisser?! Did I do something wrong last night?!_ She drained half her glass with another pull.

Helena suddenly realized how quickly her dinner partner was drinking. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" Myka looked at her. "What?" She watched Helena's eyes drop to the glass she gripped in her hand. "Oh." She relaxed her fingers. "No. I mean, yes. Yes, I'm fine." Her mind raced and she looked for something to say that would better reflect what she really wanted to convey, but she needed more time to come up with the proper phrasing. So, instead, she offered a meaningless pleasantry. "How's your dinner?"

Helena gave her a look. "Darling, that's what I'm saying." She placed her napkin in her lap again. "It's not horrible, but I'm not sure I understand what about this dish you seem to crave. Do you really like it so much?"

It took a moment for it to register that Helena had been speaking about the misconceived meal the entire time. When it finally dawned on her, she dropped her head forward to give a small laugh. "Ah. Yes, well, it's actually not bad," she said truthfully. "Though I think you might like the way my mother prepares it, better." The suggestion seemed to lift Helena's spirits.

"I look forward to the opportunity," she said with a twinkle in her eye. Myka laughed again. Whether from the wine or the circumstance, she did not know, but the hilarity of the misunderstanding washed through her and took with it all her apprehension about their impending conversation topic.

"I thought you were talking about something else," she said and chuckled. She shook her head thoughtfully dismissing the absurdity of her panic and took another swallow from her wine.

"Oh?" Helena asked inquisitively. "Do tell."

Myka turned her head to face her, but the room kept on going. She noted the lightheaded feeling and the warmth in her cheeks. The wine was getting to her, but she did not understand why – she could normally drink everyone under the table. When she did not respond Helena looked up at her.

"What did you think I was trying to say?" Helena asked her.

Myka chuckled. "Honestly?" She leaned forward resting her arms on the table. "I  _completely_  misunderstood and thought you were talking about us." She giggled slightly and continued. "I thought you were bringing up the topic of, you know… our  _being_ … uhm,  _t-together_ , but that you were saying you didn't want it anymore."

Helena gave a long blink followed by a quick headshake. "Why on  _earth_  would you conceive such a thought?" The accent danced in Myka's ears. "In case you haven't noticed," Helena said. "I've been thinking about you all day." Her voice dropped into a lower register as she emphasized her next statement. "You're  _all_  I've thought about for weeks."

Myka picked up the corkscrew nervously toying with it as she considered Helena's declaration. "And you're all I've thought about for…" she caught herself. "Since the first time we met." She twisted the cork back and forth on the end of the brass spiral until it came off in her hand. "There was just something about you. And, then, over time," she widened her eyes and looked down into her hands. "You became the one thing I tried to resist the most, and the one thing I couldn't live without." Myka stopped fidgeting and placed the objects on the table. "The truth is," she took in a deep breath. "I've never wanted anyone like I want you, Helena." She looked up holding Helena's gaze. "I want you in ways I can't even begin to imagine."

Helena sat back in her chair giving Myka a long considering look. "Well, then," she said, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "I guess we'll just have to be inventive." A corner of her mouth turned up. "Won't we?"

Myka's stomach pleasantly rolled and she flushed visibly. "I'm sure we'll think of something," she said and stuffed a forkful of peas into her mouth. She swallowed without chewing. Helena smirked and went back to her plate. By the time the two finished their meal only one type of hunger was still yet to be sated, and Myka rose from her chair when Helena stood.

"Oh, no dear, sit back down." Helena motioned to her with her hand.

"But we're done," Myka said giving her a confused look.

"Not yet!" Came the quick response. "I've made trifle!"

Myka closed the distance between them with two long strides. "To hell with the trifle." She pushed Helena back against the wall wrapping her fingers through her hair as she kissed up her neck until she reached her mouth. She felt Helena relax as she parted their lips and deepened the kiss, but she could not tell if the pounding she felt against her chest was from Helena's heart or her own. Helena's hands fisted in the material of Myka's shirt so that when the kiss broke, she took a long breath before letting it go. The unexpected kiss vividly reminded her that the woman in front of her could be every bit as bold as she was.

"So," Helena said, clearing her throat. "No trifle?"

"I'll take my dessert," Myka's response against her neck caused the goose-bumps to rise again. "Of a different kind."

Helena's mind struggled for something to give her back her footing. She was not so sure she wanted to be on this side of the palpable desire just yet. "You know," she said clearing her throat again. "The color of this shirt really brings out your eyes."

Myka looked down before she looked back up with a sly grin. "Just don't ruin this one."

And, with that, Helena had her foothold. "Oh, no worries, darling." The newly emboldened woman stepped forward forcing Myka to take a step back. She placed her hands on Myka's chest and gently pushed. They took another step. "I can assure you," she loosened the top button.

Another step. "This time…" she released a second button.

The third step found Myka pressed into the side of the table. "I will do my best," another button was freed. Helena stepped in until they were standing so close she could barely move her hands. Myka leaned backward. "To ensure," another popped open. "I take," two remained. "The utmost care." Only one. "To preserve your shirt."

She leaned in taking Myka's mouth with hers, splayed the shirt open and ran her hands up to the exposed woman's shoulders. She slipped her hands underneath the material sliding it back until it fell from her body. If they had not been pressed so tightly together against the table, Myka's weakened knees would have fully given way. She ached to feel her bare skin against her own and she moaned letting her head fall forward to begin unfastening the buttons on Helena's shirt and pants. Lifting her head as her fingers worked, and pushing Helena back just enough so she could finish her task, Myka once again gratefully received the sweet tender lips against her own; she gladly melted into them. Whatever their previous kisses had been, this one topped them all.

It was soft, and slow, and gentle – and as their tongues rolled together her head began to cloud. The lightheadedness returned, but was of a different sort this time, and she could no longer tell if her feet were even on the ground. It was exhilarating. The feelings of passion and desire and love all mixed together, threatening to undo the very laws of gravity right there and then.

And then, suddenly, Helena's hands were sliding down her back to unfasten her bra. Myka felt her legs quiver when Helena stepped back to remove the garment from her body. As ridiculously exciting as it was to feel Helena's hands on her, it was a thousand times moreso to see the desire written in the woman's eyes. It made her feel sensual and sexual all at the same time – so that even while Helena stared, Myka grabbed her by the front of her shirt pulling her forward. She wanted more.

The force of impact from their bodies slamming together caused a candle on the table to topple over hitting against a plate. Myka ignored the sound, but Helena's attention had been captured. She pulled her head back to look at the newly extinguished candle grunting as she pried herself from the embrace. "Ah, sorry dear, but perhaps it would be a better idea to relocate ourselves."

"Huh?" Myka, still oblivious to the reason for Helena's suggestion, leaned forward and began kissing Helena's neck.

"I believe we should relocate," Helena reiterated with difficulty. The hot breath and warm tongue against her skin clouded her brain. "To the, uh," she pushed herself free. "To the bedroom, perhaps. A far more suitable place, I think." Myka protested, but Helena was having none of it. "I will not," she said shaking her head with finality, "have the first time I ravish you, be on my brother's dining room table." She took Myka's left hand and pulled her away from the table pausing as she walked to bend over and blow out the other candle.

Myka, still driven by want and need, seized the moment by drawing the entwined hand upward while hooking her foot around to sweep Helena's right foot to the side and pressed forward – bending Helena over against the table. It was a typical law-enforcement move, and one Myka was never gladder to have known than in that very moment. "I think this is as good a place as any," she said into Helena's ear as she simultaneously ran her right hand to the inside of Helena's shirt. Helena tried to pull her hand free, but Myka only held it tighter. There was no way she was getting out of the hold from her current position, and the knowledge of it sent a wicked shiver down Myka's spine. Helena was hers to do with as she pleased, and she had every intention of making the most of the situation.

She looked down and realized, for the first time, the appeal of that particular position. There was something about it stirring her most primal desires, and she found herself moving more forcefully than she ever thought she might. She kissed the back of Helena's neck, letting her teeth graze roughly at the base where it met her shoulders, and simultaneously brought her hand up to cup Helena's breast. No bra. Myka sighed at the feel of her; the supple flesh in her hand caused a sudden shot of warmth to the area between her thighs, and she suddenly found the hardened nipple brushing against her hand to be the most fascinating thing in the entire world. Myka slid over the tip before holding the rigid peak still between her fingers, pressing them together until Helena finally moaned her approval. It was with that action that Helena's body finally went limp bringing her only free hand to the table in a feeble attempt to hold herself upright. Myka smiled inwardly. Helena had given in.

Myka released her left hand bringing her own to Helena's other breast while slipping her right one down into the breach she created when she unbuttoned Helena's trousers. The sounds her lover made when her fingers slid down to slip inside the second hem filled Myka's world and caused her stomach a delightful churning sensation. She knew she needed to hear more. To see more. She continued the downward slide of her hand until she felt the warm wet heat beyond the curve under her hand. The sensation brought a groan of yearning from both of them, and Myka pulled back with her left arm bringing Helena back with it so their bodies lay flush. She kissed her shoulder and then turned her around to devour Helena's neck with her mouth.

Helena's head fell to the side, her eyes closed, and she grabbed at Myka's hand urging it downward. The need burned inside her with such intensity she felt it sweep painfully through her body. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Myka's fingers slide over the swollen bundle of her desire – the contact was nothing short of explosive. "Oh God!" The exclamation left Helena so vibrantly it brought Myka's head up eliciting a low primitive growl. The sight of her expression robbed Myka of all thought driving her forward with the rawest of instinct.

There was a flurry of movement as Helena found her pants lowered even as she was lifted bodily and pushed backward onto the table. A pressure against her chest coaxed her to lay back fully, and when she was finally prone, there was the sudden delicious fullness of fingers slipping inside of her.

Myka entered her with a force neither woman expected, and as she moved inside the smooth velvety folds she could not manage anything less vigorous, but the response she received let her know she did not need to be gentle. Helena threw her head back lifting her back as she gripped Myka's shoulders trying to pull her in harder and deeper. Her desperate sounds, and the way the open material of her shirt half-hid the curves of her breasts as her chest heaved with each frantic demand of her lungs, sent Myka's head swimming.

She brought herself forward until she could take Helena's breast hungrily into her mouth, sucking in sharply and pressing her lips against the rigid peak, even as she rolled the tip of her tongue over the edge. Helena shuddered and raised herself up pressing herself into the new sensation. The feel of fingers wrapping themselves into her hair made Myka smile into the malleable flesh. She shifted her wrist feeling the constriction of Helena's trousers against her hand, and her muffled complaint was followed by a sudden withdraw from Helena's body. "Wait… what?" Helena leaned up at the feel of Myka's absence. She watched Myka kneel between her legs and felt her strip the material from her body. But when Myka suddenly began laying scorching kisses against the inside of her thigh she felt an unexpected surge hit her stomach. Her eyes slammed shut.  _Yes. I know. God yes._   _Please._  And then Myka's mouth was on her and Helena was lost.

Myka came undone when she heard the nearly inaudible "godyesplease" leave Helena's lips, and she knew she wanted so much more than to just be inside her. She lifted Helena's thighs so they rested on her shoulders and pressed her mouth forward; she ran her tongue down until she was able to curl the end of it so that it entered the heady fount without hesitation. Helena's groaning exhalation ripped through Myka's body and she dug her fingers into the tops of the enraptured woman's thighs - pulling them apart, and pressing herself forward to draw her tongue up, as she circled the pulsating nerve-bundle. She thought not of what others had done to her in the past, but of what she had always wanted done - and what she wanted to do now, as she chose her rhythm, pressure, and speed.

Within moments Helena's entire demeanor changed. She held her breath when her orgasm hit and her muscles tightened as she arched her back lifting her from the tabletop. Myka looked up to see the most exquisite vision she could ever have imagined. Helena's mouth fell open and the extraordinary pleasure radiating through her body wrote itself into the knitting together of her eyebrows. The image seared through Myka's brain as Helena's hands pulled at the back of her neck to push her forward into the excruciatingly perfect moment. Over and over, the waves crashed through her lifting and dropping her, but Myka knew she could push her further – she brought her fingers back and slipped them inside once more as she pushed impossibly harder with her mouth. Helena cried out and her hands flew to the sides where she eventually gripped the tablecloth pulling it forward in one sweeping motion. Dishes and utensils mixed with glassware, but neither woman noticed. When, at last, Helena's body gave out she collapsed backward gasping for air in rhythm to the pounding of Myka's heart.

Helena tried closing her mouth to swallow, but her tongue was thick and dry and she could do nothing other than continue to gasp for air. Myka's muscles refused to obey her and she momentarily found herself crouched on the floor listening to Helena's breath as much as her own.  _Jesus Christ!_ Myka's mind raced uncontrollably. She could hardly believe what had just happened, but she believed - no, she  _knew_  it was something she wanted to do again. It took her a minute to find her legs, and when she stood she saw Helena look up at her. "You okay?" she asked the raven-haired beauty.

"Never better," Helena responded with effort. A smile played at her lips. "You?"

"That was amazing," Myka said leaning over to place a kiss against her abdomen. She traced her finger through the fine hairs and closed her eyes as she left another kiss in their wake.

Helena pulled herself up and lifted Myka with her. "Utterly amazing," she agreed.

Myka smiled sheepishly. "I'm glad. It certainly  _sounded_  amazing." She pulled at Helena's hips so they could stand together and fall into another kiss. When she swept her forward the tablecloth came with it and the mass of dinnerware careened off the side crashing loudly to the floor.

The two women stared silently watching as a single fork teetered precariously until finally joining the rest of the pile underneath the table. Helena paused and then turned to Myka. "I told you we should have gone to the bedroom."


	22. Ruminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H.G. and Myka share an awkward moment with Charles before Myka gets to meet a childhood hero.

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Twenty-two, Ruminations

 

(Chicago, IL – early morning, 23 May 1893)

 

Myka awoke to the sound of early morning birds outside the window. She turned to look and smiled as she felt the resistance Helena's arm, draped across her body, provided. With a satisfied smile she leaned back into the warmth of her lover's bare chest against her own naked back and thought back over the previous night. Somehow it all felt like a glorious dream.

Myka had laughed at Helena's quip over the broken dishes, and the two made their way upstairs leaving the cleaning-up for later.  _And what a mess that was!_  She thought with a smile, but it left her lips immediately when she recalled the damage they had inadvertently caused to the beautiful dining table. Somehow, and she had no idea when it happened, the side of the table where they had been ended up with an array of gouges. Myka had lamented the ruined table, but Helena made a joke of it and decided to carve her initials over one of the gouges using the brass corkscrew. "It's only fitting, don't you think?" She had said with that infuriatingly seductive tone of hers. "It's like it was asking to be branded at this point." And with that she merely finished her task and called for Myka to follow her upstairs again.

Myka grinned to herself. She did follow, but only after finding a way to add "MB" to the same set of gouges and scratches, although she did not use the same amount of force in her scribble and thought it would likely never be noticed.  _I can't believe I did that_ , she thought.  _It's not like me to vandalize someone else's property._  She sighed.  _But, I can't say I regret it!_  And she, truthfully, did not. She felt Helena stir and tried to hold herself still. She loved the feel of their entwined bodies and did not yet want for it to end.

 _God, I loved how we collapsed into each other._  She thought back to the first foray upstairs after the dinner. She held in a laugh as she recalled Helena's refusal to ravish her on the dining room table. And so she had kept that promise, too. Instead, she had waited until they were able to properly fall into the bed, and Myka had been taken to places she never even knew existed. Helena had made love to her passionately, and she had loved every moment of it. It had all been nothing but pleasure, and Myka had no idea why, but she was not going to question it. It had been that way the entire night, with the two of them eventually getting to the point where they could take their time to explore and touch, kiss and taste, and to learn what it meant to truly please and be pleased by another woman. For Myka, the experience was one she knew she would keep with her always. She did not care if they lived together until they were old and grey, she would never forget the magic of their first night, nor would she ever want to.

 _So much time wasted_ , she thought with a sigh vowing to spend the rest of forever making up for it. She smiled inwardly at the thought of the life awaiting them, and wondered what it would be like to help Helena raise her daughter.  _Our daughter_ , she corrected her thought with a sudden realization. She chuckled softly.  _Me, a parent. Who would have ever thought?_ She felt Helena stir again and then the arm tightened around her. When a soft kiss landed against the back of her neck Myka shivered. "Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?" Myka could hear the tiredness in Helena's voice, but she loved the sound of it just the same. She turned over and nestled herself into the warm inviting crook between her neck and shoulders inhaling deeply as she made herself fit. She could not imagine a time when she had ever felt more fulfilled.

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – morning, 23 May 1893)

 

Charles poked his head around the corner and looked into the dining room, but found it empty. Voices from beyond the room carried his eyes further to his sister, who was in the midst of preparing a meal. He raised his eyebrow at the thought of her rising early enough to make breakfast two days in a row. It had been a long time since he had seen her so happy, and though she had been a wife at one time – and was still a mother, he had never seen her be more domestic than she had been over the past few weeks. Another movement drew his eye and he saw their houseguest filling a glass of water. He smiled. He liked the thought of H.G. finally having found someone who could settle her down and, at least partially, tame that spirit of hers that was always causing them so much consternation in the public eye. He glanced at the dining room table as he walked toward the kitchen, but did not notice the changed tablecloth nor the strange place settings.

"Good morning, you two!" Charles greeted them both jovially and reached for the morning paper where Helena had left it on the counter.

"Good morning, Charlie," Helena said and gave him a peck on the cheek. He rolled his eyes playfully as he smiled at Myka. "Emma and I were just talking about doing some research later, I thought you might like to join us?"

Myka finished the sip she had taken and greeted him. "Good morning," she said with a smile.

"Morning, love," he said to her with a nod before answering his sister. "You know I'd love to help." He had always looked forward to helping her with her research, though he never understood what it was she wanted out of all the work she did. But, still, it was something they had shared together since they were children, and he always enjoyed the time they shared in the process of exploring her ideas. "Have a good time last night?" He casually asked while picking up the paper and glancing through the front page.

Myka flushed and quickly raised her glass, catching the devilish look on her lover's face, before taking another sip of water so she would not have to speak. Helena did not miss a beat as she turned to him to deliver her deadpan response. "I'd say it was absolutely  _smashing_! And you?" Before he could say another word he found himself sprayed with water full in the face and chest. Myka had spewed her drink all over him when Helena answered.

"Oh my God," she said horror-stricken. "I'm so sorry!" She stood staring at him with her hand over her mouth.

Charles wiped first one eye and then the other before saying, "Yes. Well. I have, in fact, already bathed for the day."

Helena, attempting not to laugh, just handed him a dishtowel before plating the scrambled eggs from her pan. "Dry yourself off," she said without looking at him. "You're dripping all over the floor."

Charles took the towel and wiped himself off, and then joined the two of them a few minutes later in the dining room. As he pulled out his chair a smile crossed his face; he lifted a pale blue shirt and held it aloft. "Emma, darling," he said a little too sweetly. "Did you misplace something?"

Myka's fork paused mid-air with the dawning realization. In their haste to clean the mess from the previous night, she had forgotten to pick up the shirt Helena had stripped from her. She blinked rapidly before saying, "Uhm, no, I don't think so." The lie came out before she could do anything about it, and the flush that filled her cheeks did nothing to help her charade. She was beyond mortified.

Helena held out her hand. "I believe that belongs to me. I picked up some shirts yesterday, and was wondering where I'd left it." Charles gave her a knowing look but let the matter drop as he handed it over to her. She hung it over the back of her chair and proceeded to fill a plate for him.

He began making small talk as he poured himself a cup of tea, but he stopped when Helena placed his plate in front of him. "Uhm," he said hesitantly. "And exactly why are the scrambled eggs being served on a tea-saucer?"

* * *

 

(Somewhere in U.S. airspace - 2012)

 

Nikola Tesla dearly wanted to unfasten his seat belt, but his stomach was already lurching. It was difficult for him every time he flew, and this trip seemed to be packing extra servings of turbulence. He was internally grateful they had elected for the plane rather than the helicopter to make the long trip. As they hit another pocket of disturbed air, Nikola gripped the armrests hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Cretin!" He hissed under his breath before opening his eyes again to stare into the infuriatingly bemused face of his long-time friend, Dr. Helen Magnus. "Seriously, where did your pilot get his license – a Cracker Jack box?"

Magnus laughed. "Oh, Nikola, that was barely even a bump! Be glad you weren't with me last week when Will and I flew to Atlanta. I've never flown so close to a tornado funnel." Nikola's eyes went wide and he visibly blanched. "It was such fun!" She beamed proudly at the effect her announcement had.

Nikola gave her a look as if to indicate he thought she might not be entirely sane before closing his eyes again hoping to concentrate on settling his stomach. He wanted to say something, but he did not trust his breakfast – his very large breakfast – to keep from making an unwelcome reappearance. Instead he let his mind drift to the reason for their hurried trip. He had taken the call from H.G. himself, and he could still recall the way her voice sounded on the other end of the line. It had not taken more than a sentence for him to feel his heart wrench within his chest for her; even after all the time she had been bronzed, he could feel her pain as acutely as he always had.

Whatever was happening now, whoever this Agent of hers was, if he knew anything at all he knew H.G. Wells was approaching the end of her rope. He had seen her suffer before. He knew what the extremes of that emotional spectrum had done to her – how it had changed her, and he knew before she even asked that he would be on the next available flight to stand at her side. He did not know if he could help save the woman she so obviously loved, but he knew he had to try. And he knew if he failed – if he was unable to somehow stop the tragic loss, that the H.G. Wells he held so dear would be lost for good this time.

His stomach took a final violent lurch, clearing his mind of any further retrospection, when the airplane hit a severe pocket of turbulence. He opened his eyes to find a waxy lined paper bag held in front of his face. He took it and leaned over the side of his chair as Magnus gave him a sympathizing look. "Perhaps I should consider buying a train," she said. He nodded his head as he buried his face into the bag.

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – early afternoon, 23 May 1893)

 

"Really?! Really?!" Myka nearly bounced with excitement at the news.

"Yes," Charles laughed. "Really. I take it you'd like to join me?" He gave her a mirthful smile, and Helena could not help but smile right along with him.

"I think," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "That neither of us would ever hear the end of it if we did not take you up on that offer."

Myka's expression clearly indicated Helena's words were an understatement. She grinned ear to ear as she spoke. "It's Susan B. Anthony! Of  _course_  I want to see her!"

"Lovely," he said smiling to the both of them. "I'll have the carriage wait for you. I'll meet you outside." He walked to the hallway and grabbed his coat. "We should leave as soon as possible, though," he warned. "I'm fairly certain Miss Cigrand's heroin will command a rather large audience."

By the time they made it to the auditorium, Myka was fairly certain they would never find a place to sit. It seemed to her as if the whole of the World's Fair had made it into the building she immediately recognized as being part of the Art Institute of Chicago. She shook her head in amazement at the surreal feeling of being at such an historic event, to see such an historic figure, in what had yet to become such an iconic part of American culture. She walked into the large hall with Helena and Charles and craned her neck toward the stage. Without the benefit of large projection screens she was unsure if she would even be able to pick out the famous woman when she took her seat on the panel with her contemporaries. She frowned wondering if she might be able to stand against the wall nearer the stage, but then she heard a familiar voice call to Helena.

"Wells! Wells, so wonderful to see you here!" A light British accent caught Myka's ear and she turned to see a smiling Dr. Magnus walking toward them. They all exchanged pleasantries and then Magnus invited them to join her in the reserved section near the front of the hall. Myka thought she might faint with excitement when they found themselves seated not more than three rows from center stage. People continued to mill about and it was hard to be heard over the all the commotion, but she did her best to greet the others in the physician's party as they were introduce.

"Hello, I'm Emma, it's so nice to meet you," she said to a woman and man introduced as Carol Brooks and her husband Herman MacNeil. She shook their hands and smiled, but did not get to speak with them before being introduced to the next person. Mary Cassatt shook her hand warmly and invited her to explore the Women's Auxiliary where she said she had painted two large murals; Mary Kenny and her fiancé Jack were too far away to do anything other than give her a smiling nod; and Helena remarked "She made the marvelous sculpture in front of the Administration building," when she introduced her to a petite young woman named Mary Lawrence. She, along with a few of the others she met wore matching badges with the visage of a white rabbit, though Myka did not know the significance of the symbol. She made a mental note to try to research the matter some day. The last person she met was a woman by the name of Carrie Catt, a name she was almost sure she knew, but she did not get to do more than shake her hand before the auditorium crowd erupted into applause as the panelists took the stage. Myka did not need long to figure out which one was the famous American suffragist, however, and she eagerly awaited the moment when she would get to hear her speak.

It took an hour and a half for the panel discussion to close, and Myka disappointedly expected to leave the gathering without having heard the woman speak, but then the moderator announced a closing speech to be given by the President of the National American Women's Suffrage Association – and Myka knew, before Anthony elegantly rose from her seat, that the moment she had been waiting for had finally arrived. She listened intently as the famous woman spoke, first, about a writer whose words had moved her and reminded her of her good friend, another famous suffragist – Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Myka noted with interest how the celebrated woman's name was met with mixed responses from the audience. The speech did not last long, but it had humor, some self-deprecation, and even criticisms; but what Myka liked best was the encouragement to create a newspaper wholly owned and operated by women not for the purpose of promoting a cause, but simply to give women an avenue into journalism where their writings and expressions would not be at the mercy of men. Although Myka was more than familiar with the successes of women in the area of journalism, the proposed idea was revolutionary for its time, and Myka joined with the rest of the audience who gave a standing ovation at the conclusion of the speech.

"So what did you think?" Helena's voice near her ear caused her to turn around with a smile.

"Can you believe it? Can you? We  _actually_  got to hear her speak!" Myka could barely contain her excitement.

Helena grinned. "It seems you think rather highly of her. Though I do not know why it surprises me to find out you're one of the agitators." She gave her an appraising look. "Yes, that seems most fitting now that I think about it." They spoke amongst themselves a few minutes until Magnus invited them to a private lunch with the panelists. Fewer things in the moment could have made Myka happier than getting to spend the afternoon in the presence of yet another childhood hero, and both Charles and Helena happily agreed to accompany them.

As they walked with the group Myka turned to Helena. "So, there's something I don't understand," she said.

"Oh? What's that?" Helena asked.

"Your brother," Myka said looking over to him as he walked and talked with some of the group. "How is it he's interested in anything having to do with feminism, when he always seemed so… so…" She searched for the right word.

"Feminism?" Helena questioned her. "Well, Charles does tend to prefer women to be of the more feminine appearance, but I think that's more a matter of personal attraction than anything else."

Myka paused. "No, I mean…" She realized she had, yet again, introduced a word that seemed not to have existed in the period. "I mean, he didn't strike me as someone who thinks women and men should have equal footing."

Helena laughed at the statement. "Yes, I know what you mean. And the truth is, for the most part he comes off as every bit the typical male of our era. But, that's mostly for show or to aggravate me in a particular moment. He likes to goad me into arguments sometimes." She turned to her and smiled as they walked. "He can be a real bastard when he wants to be." Myka did not get a chance to say anything in response before they turned a corner and were escorted into a small room and were given seats at a large table.

Over lunch Myka came to learn that the white rabbit badge was a private joke some of the women shared, and that it had something to do with the Women's Auxiliary, but she did not get more information due to being caught into conversation with Susan B. Anthony herself. They did not get to speak long, and Myka had trouble concentrating on the conversation so great was her admiration and disbelief of being in the woman's presence. The one thing she took with her from their meeting was how animated Anthony became when Myka made a simple statement during their conversation. They had been discussing the state of women and the inability to be independent or happy so long as their existences were tied to, and dependent upon, the other gender.  "I know what you mean," Myka had said.  "As far as I'm concerned, independence  _is_  happiness."  The comment filled Anthony's face with light and she thanked her for the quip, promising to one day quote it in one of her many speeches. Myka's feet never touched the ground on the way out.

It was late afternoon by the time they returned home, and they ate a light dinner before deciding to move to the library for Helena's research. Charles followed them a few minutes after they sat down with her books and papers, but he stood in the doorway rather than enter the room. He watched them working and smiled, happy once again to see how well the young woman and his sister seemed to fit together. But, then, he realized there were only two chairs in the study – and that there was no room for him. They had never shared their research time with anyone else, and he stood looking between the two women who were already lost in concentration as they leafed through texts and checked diagrams. Whatever the topic was this time, both women were equally as embedded in their examinations.

It was a bittersweet realization to think his place in his sister's life had been preempted. He sighed heavily, leaving the two women to their research as he walked away with his hands stuffed in his pockets. As much as it pained him to think he would no longer occupy that special place in his sister's life, he was grateful to know she had found someone who could share her life with her in all the ways he knew she found important. He smiled, then, thinking of the way the two women seemed to profess their love with nothing more than shared stolen glances. He resolved to always be thankful Emma Cigrand had come into their lives.  _After all_ , he thought,  _that's the kind of love that only comes around once in a lifetime._


	23. Careful Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H.G. and Myka consider a serious step in their relationship, while the Warehouse crew prepare for Myka's return.

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Twenty-three, Careful Preparation

 

(Chicago, IL – evening, 23 May 1893)

 

Myka rubbed her eyes and yawned. They had been studying diagrams, making edits, and researching through countless texts for details to be used in Helena's strange television-like device. Relocating to the living area after their dinner had only made her more sleepy and Myka had understood little of the design-specifics they discussed for hours, but she had stared at the new diagrams so long she thought they might have etched themselves into her eyelids. The only saving grace the entire evening had been the re-emergence of the licorice tin they had purchased the first week of her arrival. She had eaten from the candy with gusto and decided she wanted another length of it. She reached for the tin and opened the lid before placing her hand inside. Empty. She frowned and gave a disappointed sigh.

"Something wrong, dear?" Helena looked up at the sound of her sigh.

"No," Myka lamented and let her head fall back against the cushion. "Only just realized I'm out of licorice."

Helena shook her head. She could not believe the entire tin was gone. "Apparently you didn't mind it being stale?" She looked at her now outdated diagram and drew a heart symbol on it, reminding herself to pick up a new tin for her the next time she went to town.

"It was still good," Myka insisted in a near-whine. She was exhausted from the day's excitement, and even she could hear the toll in her voice. She unsuccessfully fought a yawn.

Helena glanced at her. "Why don't you go up to bed?" She recognized a person fighting sleep when she saw it, and knew she would still be a few more hours before she was ready to call it a night.

"I'm fine," she said with another yawn. She really did want to go to sleep, but not more than she wanted to be with Helena, so she picked up another text and began looking for more information about the anatomy of the human eye.

"Would you hand me Newton's text, then, please?" Helena turned to face her, lifting her eyes from a page where she had been making meticulous notes on both light and magnetism. "The new one, not the one on mathematics." She saw Myka reach for the old book and went back to writing, missing how her companion grimaced and rolled her eyes at the condition of the severely maltreated  _Opticks_  which she placed next to the diagram.

They worked another hour before Helena decided on a break. As they drank their tea and snacked on finger foods, Helena decided to broach a topic that had been playing at her mind. "So, Emma," she began, trying to appear nonchalant. "I've been thinking…"

"Uh oh," Myka said, turning to face her. She could only imagine what might follow.

Helena frowned. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Mean? Oh, nothing…" Myka peered at her through suspicious eyes. "Except that I know that look in your eye."

"What look?" Helena seemed genuinely annoyed that she might be so easily read.

" _That_  look," Myka gestured at her with her eyebrows. "The one that says 'my innocent words have no hidden agenda – oh but look, they really do'."

Helena stared at her briefly before scrunching her face at the thought. "I am quite certain I have never said anything so visibly duplicitous as  _that_." She folded her arms and sat back against the cushion.

"Maybe," Myka responded playfully. "But that doesn't mean your look doesn't say it for you." When Helena gave her a genuinely indignant expression, Myka laughed. "Okay, okay. What is it? What's on your mind?" The truth was, she had never known the woman to ever be anything but transparent with her emotions; her motives, however, were another matter. But, she reminded herself, that was a different Helena, and an entirely different life.

"I was just going to  _suggest_ ," Helena's chin jutted out defiantly. "You may wish to procure some of your belongings so that you feel a bit more at home."  _That's the best you can do? What do you mean? You realize how that sounded, right? Oh._  She thought about what she was trying to say. "If you wish to stay here, that is… longer than you have… which is perfectly fine, of course."  _Not much better. You know what would be better? What? You actually being helpful for once._ She realized it was not coming out like she had hoped. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly trying to settle her thoughts.

"Helena," There was hesitation in Myka's voice. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

 _Say yes. No! Why not?! HOW DO I KNOW?!_  Helena appeared visibly flustered. "Move in?"

"Is that why you want me to bring my things here?" Myka set her teacup down and gave Helena her full attention.

Helena looked at her and said, "Here?"  _You really aren't very good at this, are you? I don't see you doing any better!_ "Uhm, well, if you'd like to. I mean…" she took an inordinate amount of time trying to find the right words. "If it would suit you to have your belongings here, for convenience?"

Myka could not recall ever seeing Helena be more adorable. It moved her so deeply she could not help herself. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Helena's lips before saying, "I love you." Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the words leave her mouth – but the moment had felt natural and honest, and for once in her life Myka felt completely secure in letting her emotions lead the way. The smile on Helena's face added confidence to that feeling of security, and she curled herself into Helena's side while resting her head against her shoulder.

 _Say something! Optic nerve! What? What what? Uhm, are you even listening? To what? Hello? Hi. Oh boy…_  Helena's directionless thoughts whirled disconcertingly, and her heart felt like it was beating to the rhythm of unsynchronized drums.  _You with me? Did you go somewhere?_ She was confident the two conditions were somehow related, but she could not immediately make sense of the connection.  _Well this is awkward. Is it? You need to say something to her. I do? You can save that one for later, but for now just tell her how you feel. She doesn't know? That's not the point._  "I love you, too" she finally managed to say. And then her thoughts finally became cohesive. "I truly do love you."

Myka smiled and closed her eyes to relish the moment. "I know," she said sighing happily. And she did know it – she would have known it even if Helena had not managed to find a way to reciprocate her sentiment. She decided it would not have mattered if they had never spoken the words, because they had said them with every interaction they had ever had; in a way, she realized, she had always known how they felt for one another.  _But still_ , she decided with another happy sigh,  _it's wonderful to hear it, anyway._

_  
_

* * *

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

Claudia Donovan worked steadily at her laptop in a coordinated effort with H.G., Pete, and Artie over the state of the power grid. The other agents were spread throughout the Warehouse, while she monitored the changes in the grid's stability. Myka's battery had given out earlier than expected, and her connection now depended solely upon the Warehouse. The thought was unsettling. The alterations they had made for the upcoming grid-reset had almost been serendipitous – by isolating her sector they had increased stability, which meant the power was more than sufficient for their needs. But, she had discovered, they had also made her entirely dependent upon only a small set of circuits. If anything went wrong, there would not be the normal redundant web to redistribute any extra load. Their emergency parachute was going to have to be the small pathway shared by the closed circuit camera system.

Had she not felt so personally responsible for the entire set of circumstances that so jeopardized her mentor, she might not have still been at her desk working through the camera feeds for the automatic shutdown sequence she was creating. If they experienced any sort of power failure, it wouldn't hold more than a few minutes at most – but that minute could make all the difference if it allowed them enough time to pulse that part of the grid. She cycled through the cameras checking them off in order when she stumbled across a disturbing image. Dr. Vanessa Calder, Dr. Magnus, and Nikola Tesla were huddled together near the platform speaking animatedly. But what caught her attention was the medical crash-cart to which Dr. Calder was pointing. Claudia quickly switched on the audio to hear what was happening.

She tuned-in while Dr. Calder was still in mid-sentence. "…so we can have that on standby."

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely concerned about that." Magnus spoke as she looked at Tesla. "We're both in agreement the most likely side-effect would be short-term memory loss. Though neither of us is sure exactly how effected she might be."

"Yes. I hadn't thought about it, but you're right. Memory loss can be a significant side-effect, although it's not always short-term," said Dr. Calder with a long sigh. "There's a very real possibility she could lose much more than that." She rubbed the bridge of her nose when she spoke next. "I think we should prepare everyone for the possibility."

"I think we should wait on that," countered Magnus. "Until we know for sure, I'd prefer not to raise the alarm."

"Well truthfully," Nikola Tesla placed his hands on his hips. "I don't think I'd want to be the person to explain why we did nothing when we knew about it beforehand."

There was a long pause. "I'm going to need to know specifics," Dr. Calder said.

"I realize I am a genius," retorted Tesla. "But not even I can predict a theoretical specific from this many unknown variables."

"What he means to say," Magnus spoke again. "Is that we simply will not know for sure until it's already happened." Another pause. "There are possible remedies that we could apply – and maybe even preventatives, but we'd need more time to know for sure what might work." She placed her hand on Dr. Calder's arm. "Vanessa, we  _cannot_  know for certain until after she has returned. We need more time to determine that information. Until then, I recommend we keep this to ourselves. There's no point in causing unnecessary anxiety that could impede our efforts during a critical moment."

"Well, there's always the alternative," Tesla offered. He looked between the two women as he spoke. "The results are less predictable, but the side-effects would be minimal." Dr. Calder perked at the suggestion. Only Helena noted the gleam in his eye as he began to expound on his idea. It was the same look he always wore when he felt proud of his own ideas. "Try to keep up," he said to Dr. Calder. "I realize you're a doctor, and all, but you're not me."

Dr. Calder pursed her lips, but said nothing. Tesla, not noticing the look on her face, raised his hands and let a smile cross his face as he prepared to give the details on his alternative theory. Magnus, however, made it clear they would not pursue the option. "That's not going to happen, Nikola, we already discussed it." She turned to Dr. Calder to explain. "He thinks it might be possible to bring her through time without having her connected directly to a power source." Nikola started to speak but Magnus cut him off. "Nikola," She gave him a warning look.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Helena?" Nikola crossed his arms exasperated with her continued refusal to entertain his experiment. "Imagine the possibilities with wireless time-travel." He looked upward and placed his hands on his hips. "It boggles the mind." He paused, tilted his head to the side briefly, and made an expression with his mouth before he added. "Well. Your minds perhaps, not mine."

The two women shared a look as if to indicate they both wondered whether or not Tesla knew just how condescendingly pompous he really was. Dr. Calder ended up being the one to first break the silence. She appeared to consider the options and then responded to Magnus. "Fine. We'll go with what we know," she glanced at Nikola before looking back. "And we'll keep it amongst ourselves – for now. We need to get more information as soon as possible. If the probability is really that high for Myka to return without her memories, that's something we're going to have to warn people about. There's simply no choice."

"Agreed," Magnus said speaking for Tesla as much as herself. "We'll head to the laboratory where we can set up shop and start working out scenarios. I'll start planning for the memory loss and see what we can devise. I'll contact you later." With that the three walked out of the platform to their respective destinations.

Claudia sat back in her chair and ran her hand across her face. If the conversation was as real as she thought it was, then that meant Myka could return from 1893 without any of her memories in tact. Her mind raced with the implications. She replayed the conversation in her head and stuck on one glaring fact – they were purposefully choosing not to inform anyone and now Claudia realized she was being put into a difficult position. She had to make a decision as to whether or not she should take action on the information she inadvertently had at her disposal.

She did not like the weight of the decision sitting on her shoulders. Whether or not she chose to withhold the information, she knew the effects were going to be potentially devastating either way. She chewed her bottom lip as she thought through her options. This was both a personal and a professional decision, and despite how much she had grown into her capabilities over the years, she suddenly felt as if she were just a small child in a very big adult world.

 

* * *

(Chicago, IL – late evening, 23 May 1893)

 

Charles walked slowly and purposefully as he carried Myka upstairs with Helena in tow. The young woman had fallen asleep hours before and Helena had let her dream while she continued updating her notes. By the time she was ready for bed she could not bring herself to wake the sleeping beauty, so she had enlisted her brother's assistance. He agreed, but had named a price. Helena was going to have to cook his favorite meal for dinner the following day – roast and vegetables. She had laughed at the extortion, but agreed to it and then followed closely behind as he walked with the sleeping woman in his arms.

Helena ran her fingers through her hair as she followed them up the staircase. She realized she was going to have to tell Charles to go to her bedroom, rather than the guestroom, and she was not looking forward to the moment.  _He won't care. He might. It's Charles. I'm aware. He loves her for you. Doesn't mean he won't mind. You care if he minds? Good point_. When he reached the landing she opened her mouth to speak, prepared for the ensuing argument, but she shut it again as he passed the open guestroom without even a glance as he walked right into her room.

She shook her head with a smile and considered how easily he could still surprise her in ways he might never understand. Sometimes Charles was a man more amazing than she sometimes remembered to credit. She watched from the doorway as he laid Myka on the bed and made his way back to the door. He smiled at her and began to walk back downstairs, but she caught his arm as he passed and pulled him into a deep hug. "Thank you," she said into his chest.

The affectionate gesture took him off guard, but he quickly gathered himself and wrapped his arms around his sister. "You're welcome," he said.

Helena squeezed him harder. "Really, Charles. Thank you." She released him and looked up into his face. "For everything."

Charles quickly released her and put his hands in his pockets before giving her a long considering look. There was much he wanted to say to her, and even more he knew he really should say – and from the look on her face he thought the same might be true in reverse, but their British sensibilities loomed large. It was easier, for both of them, to let the moment go without discourse. So instead of having an emotional heart-to-heart between brother and sister, he simply smiled at her. "Of course." He gave her a nod and turned to walk downstairs without another word.

Helena let him go, grateful for his understanding, and walked into the room to change her clothes. As she dressed for the night she considered whether or not she should attempt a change for Myka, but ultimately decided against it. If she was already so asleep, then she clearly felt comfortable enough. She stepped from behind the dressing screen and climbed into bed.

She settled in under the covers laying her head on the pillow as she wistfully stared into the beautiful sleeping face, but the jostling had ended up stirring Myka from her sleep. She looked up and smiled groggily before pulling herself to Helena's shoulder where she laid her head for the night. The two women fell asleep quickly to the sound of each other's breathing. Neither of them noticed Mrs. Godswine settle herself onto Myka's pillow. She purred lightly as she set herself to grooming. The three figures were so comfortable in their positions they hardly moved through the entire night.

 

* * *

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"Revenge, Magnus?! You would really choose to get back at me, after all these years, by taking it out on  _her_?!" Helena stormed into Leena's breakfast room to address the only person still standing at the buffet. The room was busier than usual, with all the agents plus the two guests sharing their morning meal. Whatever jovial conversation had been happening ceased immediately with the onset of Helena's verbal attack.


	24. Impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the Finale

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Twenty-four, Impulse

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"What in bloody hell are you talking about?" Dr. Helen Magnus put her plate down on Leena's buffet table. Helena's sudden accusation of revenge made no sense to her whatsoever. Claudia entered the room a few moments after the shouting had started, and she took her seat silently as she tried to follow along with everyone else.

 _Watch your temper. The hell I will!_  "Don't play coy, Magnus!" Helena's anger was visible and it stunned the others in the room into silence. They simply watched as the moment between the two women played itself out before them. "It was a hundred and fifteen years ago, for God's sake! It was never her fault! I told you that then, and it's still true, it wasn't Emma's fault. Can't you just let it go?"

Magnus looked at her friend quizzically until a spark of recognition hit. "Emma. You think this is about Emma?" She drew in a deep breath. When she released it her face had relaxed, though her eyes seemed darker. "Whatever does any of this have to do with  _Emma_?"

Helena swallowed hard.  _Tried to warn you. Not now!_  She realized her mistake immediately, but before she could think of a way to cover it the others began to respond. It was too late to undo the damage. "Emma?" Pete turned toward Claudia as she sat down. She shrugged and looked to Artie who gestured lamely and shook his head. Leena offered no response either way.

Nikola Tesla turned in his seat to face the two women. The name, along with the response from Magnus, brought a long ago situation to his memory's forefront. "Miss Emma Cigrand," he announced. "She was an old… friend of H.G.'s, but I have no idea what she has to do with any of this." He lifted his eyebrow as a question, but Helena only stared at him in response.

"Wait," Claudia said. All eyes turned to her. "Emma Cigrand." She reached back for a memory that was only a few weeks old, and she called to mind the name flashing on her screen the night Myka had transported in time. She looked up at Helena. "Emeline. Emeline Cigrand. You knew her," she said the last statement with a quietness that made Helena wince. Regret was not a sufficient enough word to describe how she felt about the emotional outburst. In her anger she had not thought to adhere to the painstaking measures she had taken over the previous three weeks to keep the painfully private matter away from everyone else. Claudia continued. "You  _knew_  Myka was this Emma person from 1893 this whole time? Why didn't you say anything?" Tesla's face indicated the missing piece to his puzzle had finally been placed. He turned around in his chair, no longer caring about the topic of conversation, and began eating his breakfast. The rest of the group, however, still struggled to make sense of the discussion.

"Your Agent Bering is in 1893? In Emma's body?" Magnus spoke slowly and deliberately. She struggled with a thought tickling in the back of her mind. "Exactly, when, in 1893 is she?"

"The first of May, that was the date for her destination," answered Artie. He watched Helena's face looking for any sign of what it was she was trying to hide. She stoically revealed nothing.

"Yeah, but didn't Emma die? Didn't you say that serial killer got her?" Pete's questions bore a whole right through her heart.

 _I tried to warn you. I should have listened_. Helena nodded her head in response, but did not look at him when she added, "Myka will be back before that happens."

"You knew this entire time that Myka could potentially come in contact with a serial killer and you didn't bother to say anything?" Artie's voice rose as he spoke. "All of you knew?" He looked between the three Victorian friends. If there was one thing he did not appreciate it was the secrecy surrounding the safety of one of his team members, and he especially did not like thinking a separate agenda might have placed Myka in danger.

"No," Tesla said between mouthfuls of food. "I didn't put it together until just now. Neither of us knew she was Emma." He crunched into a piece of bacon and frowned tossing it to the plate. He wiped his fingers and spoke with a slight irritation. "Turkey bacon just  _does not_  do it for me."

Magnus ignored the group's discussion keeping her eyes fixed on Helena. She was still stuck on the original accusation. "You said it wasn't her fault." Magnus stepped toward her, but Helena did not respond. "When you came into the room and started shouting, you said 'it was never her fault'." Helena bit her lip and raised her eyes with as she digested the statement. "You were talking about Emma, weren't you? What did you mean, Wells? What wasn't her fault?"

"None of it was," Helena finally spoke. "Everything was different after she died. I just…" She took a deep breath before continuing. "I just wasn't the same person."

An old weathered ruefulness surfaced from the depths of some private cell painting itself briefly upon Magnus' brow. "I should say not," she finally said in a strained voice. "But I'm afraid I still don't understand. Why on earth would you think I wanted revenge? Why would you think I'd take what happened out on Agent Bering? And for goodness sake, what does Emm…" She stopped speaking in the middle of her sentence as her eyes widened with understanding. "Dear lord." The words came out as a whisper. "You mean  _she_  was the reason? It was all about her? It was Emma?"

The apology knitted itself into the expression on Helena's face. She did not want to say the words, but she knew there was no choice. "No," she said with a shake of her head. "It was Myka." She softened her tone seeing how the words seemed to hit Magnus with a visible force. "It was always Myka."

The two women stared at each other a long while, but neither of them addressed the issue any further. It was only when Pete stood from the table that anyone dared to break the tension. "Okay, whatever to all of that," he said holding his hands toward Magnus and Helena. "Just answer this, what does any of it have to do with Myka?" It was a question in the minds of everyone else present.

"Oh seriously?" Tesla looked at the group. "None of you have picked up on this?" Seeing the lack of recognition in their faces, he rolled his eyes. "How do you people function in life?" He asked the question sincerely, but no one paid him any attention.

"Pete," Helena address him. "Emma was someone I once knew. Someone with whom I was… very close. Until Myka transported, I had no idea she was not the person I met. All I can tell you for sure is that when Myka returns this afternoon, Emma will still be very much alive." She looked at Artie next. "Myka is not in any danger of meeting Emma's fate." She turned to Magnus and Tesla with her questions. "But she is in danger from something else, isn't she? Exactly what are you both not telling us about her return?"

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 24 May 1893)

 

Mrs. Godswine raced ahead of Myka up the stairs and into the room; she had decided to take a short nap while awaiting Helena's return. Helena had gone into town to pick up new parts for the invention, but had objected suspiciously when Myka offered to accompany her. She smiled at the memory as she entered the room and climbed into the bed. Mrs. Godswine was already perched on her pillow, so she laid her head down on Helena's and had just closed her eyes when she felt the second set of jolts hit her. She had felt a mild one earlier in the day, but had dismissed it as inconsequential. She knew now that she had been wrong.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up in bed, but the strange sensation coursing through her body was still there. She swung her legs out of the bed and tried to stand, but fell immediately to her knees. For the next few minutes she was unable to move as wave after wave of excruciating pulses shot throughout her entire body.  _Oh God_ , she thought desperately.  _What is happening?_

_  
_

* * *

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

The last thing Claudia saw before the feed went offline was Dr. Calder powering up the crash-cart near the platform. "Hurry, throw the switch!" Claudia's voice rang out and her fingers flew across the keyboard. She had been forced to initiate the shutdown sequence for the camera feed following the unexpected failure of two circuits connected to the H.G. Wells section. As Artie threw the lever to send a pulse down the line, she said a silent prayer hoping they had acted in time, and opened her instant messenger program.

_Claudtastic: Myka ok?_

_HGW: Believe so._

_Claudtastic: pwr lks nrml_

_HGW: What?_

_Claudtastic: Power looks normal_

_HGW: Good._

Helena tapped carefully at the keyboard with both her index fingers. As much as she was picking up on the habits and technology of the twenty-first century, she had yet to devote any time to mastering the skill of efficient typing. For now, it seemed, the emergency had past. She closed the laptop on the table and sat back in her chair running her fingers through her hair as she inhaled deeply. She exhaled loudly and turned to address the room. "Claudia says the power levels are normal."

"Good," said Dr. Calder, who reached over to the crash-cart. There was an audible tone of a fading electrical signal as it powered down.

"Let's try to avoid that again, shall we?" Tesla sat down in a chair. He seemed uncharacteristically subdued.

"Indeed," said Magnus. "Much more of that and what we fear could come to fruition." She looked at Helena as she spoke. The other woman lowered her eyes and considered what Magnus had told everyone at breakfast.

As long as they could keep the power at sufficient levels Myka was not in mortal danger, but, and this thought frightened Helena as much as the prospect of losing her – there was the very real possibility, that too many surges to the connection could cause a significant memory loss if not more complicated problems. Magnus had likened it to the effects of a lightning strike.

"Some victims experienced major physical problems," she had said, "and some did not," but there was no way to know how Myka might fare. That was when Helena had demanded to know why they were conspiring to keep it a secret, effectively preventing all of them from working together toward any alternative solution. It was something she took personally, and felt it to be a kind of betrayal she did not understand. The three of them had been brainstorming for hours since then, but so far had not come up with any viable alternatives. They could neither guarantee the power grid's integrity, nor find a way to mitigate against the effects of any further power surges. The anxiety she had kept at bay since the morning rose to the surface as the power strain on the grid began taking its toll – the lights in the area dimmed momentarily, and she turned to her friends hoping one of them had come up with something.

 

* * *

 

 

(Chicago, IL – 24 May 1893)

 

The feeling began to fade and Myka's equilibrium returned. She rose tentatively keeping her hand upon the bedpost for balance.  _I remember this feeling. Oh, God, what does it mean?_  Her heart beat heavily in her chest, and she concentrated on trying to slow it.  _Focus! Think!_  She took slow breaths until she felt her head begin to clear. She thought back to the last trip through time she had taken, and recalled the unsettling feeling that had dropped both Pete and she to the ground. They learned later that a power interruption had caused a brief disconnection between the platform and the control unit.  _The power is failing._  Her heart sank with the thought of it.

She knew it could not be that she was returning home, she had been on this journey far beyond the twenty-two hours and nineteen minutes that it should have taken. And since Emma never reawakened when that time allotment expired, that could only have meant one thing. She settled in on the stark explanation – the power to the machine was finally failing.  _Oh no_ , she sat on the edge of the bed as the realization settled over her. In her mind she imagined her colleagues trying frantically to keep the connection, and her, alive. It had not once occurred to her that she would end up lost to both times.

Myka swallowed hard, forcing out the thoughts of her inevitability and trained her mind on the only practical thing she could do in the moment. She needed to tell Helena everything, but Helena had still not returned from her trip into town. Panic began to set in when it occurred to her the connection could be lost at any time, but then it was overcome with a strange sort of disembodied self-control. She might never get the chance to say everything she wanted to say, but that did not mean she had to leave without saying what she could. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned her head to think. Her eye caught on the writing desk on the other side of the nightstand and she rose to walk toward it.

She quickly sat at the desk and pulled out a few sheets of paper and then reached for a small rectangular box labeled "Waterman's". She lifted the lid and picked up the beautifully tapered fountain pen. The ebony instrument was decorated ornately with a gold section for the grip, as well as an intricately etched gold tip. Myka smiled. "Old fashioned indeed," she said under her breath. The smile quickly faded as she thought of the task at hand, and she reached for the pen's matching dropper and inkwell. Filling the pen's reservoir was not an easy task, but she copied the method she had seen Helena use, and before long she was able to begin writing.

By the time she began drawing the letter to a close she had told Helena everything. She had explained her journey through time, the artifact, the Warehouse – everything, including a warning about Christina and a plea for Helena to remain true to herself should the unthinkable one day occur. Myka moved to add the last few paragraphs when she heard a knock at the door. "Emma?" It was Charles. She turned to face him. "Sorry to disturb you, but there's a gentleman to see you. A Mr. Robert Phelps?"

Myka clenched her teeth and shut her eyes. She had completely forgotten the end of his conference. She wondered how he knew to find her at Helena's. "Oh," she raised her head.

Charles lifted an eyebrow. "Something wrong, dear?" He studied her face not liking the reaction he saw spread across it when he mentioned the visitor's name.

"Ah. No, no, it's fine." Myka said with a sigh.

"I can ask him to call on you another day if you're not up for it?" He continued to watch her.

She considered the possibility, but dismissed it. Considering how insistent Robert had been, with the multiple telegrams she had received and never answered, she knew he would not be easily turned away. It would be quicker to simply face him so she could get back to her letter. She had more to write and the sooner she dealt with Robert, the sooner she could ensure she had told Helena everything. "No, but thank you. I'll be right there." Charles nodded at her and turned to leave. "Wait!" Myka called out to him. "Would you have him wait for me outside? In the garden?" With Charles home she knew she needed to speak with Robert away from the house. The garden afforded as much privacy as anywhere she could think of in the moment. Charles nodded and went to attend to her request.

Myka looked back at the desk, and her gaze caught on a small saucer. There, all by itself, was the light gold-starred ring. Myka ran her finger over the band. She decided it must have sat there since she first fell ill, and it had never crossed her mind again once she recovered. She withdrew her hand with a sigh, Helena had admired the ring, and even found it useful for how it seemed to open doors. So focused was she on the tragedy weighing in her mind, she did not stop to think about how it was Helena might have ever come to possess the ring in the first place. She merely considered how much she wanted Helena to have some small reminder; she resolved to place it in an envelope with the letter, making a mental note to locate one in the study after her impending conversation was over.

On her way out of the room she did not notice Mrs. Godswine watching her from her pillowed perch, nor how the feline's ears perked at the sight of the inviting papers sitting atop the desk.

 

* * *

 

"Mr. Phelps," Myka said as she approached him in the garden. "Hello again."

Robert turned at the mention of his name and his face lit up, but fell again at the formality of her greeting. "Emeline," he said tersely. "You look well." She said nothing. "Andrew told me you had been ill, and that you were staying here." He looked back toward the house as he spoke.

"Yes, I'm better now," she said. She offered no pleasantries, wanting only to finish the conversation so she could return to more important details.

"He also said," Robert cleared his throat, "that you were staying on here. In this house…" He looked at her with a strange expression. "That you would not be returning home for some time?"

Myka ignored the question. "Robert, why are you here?" The question was blunt, and she knew it made her sound insensitive, but she did not care.

"No!" he exclaimed with a sudden anger. "Why are  _you_  here?" The reaction startled her and she took a defensive posture.

"That is none of your business!" She raised her voice with her response.

"It is entirely my business! You and I are supposed to be planning our wedding! First you were supposed to start your job, and then we were supposed to be getting married. That's how it was supposed to be, Emeline! I don't know what is going on," he said. "I have no idea why you're here, why you're acting like we're not engaged, I don't understand any of it." He turned to face her. "But let me tell you – it took me quite a lot of convincing to get Dr. Holmes to agree to let you start your job later than he had hoped!" Robert gestured with his hands and the emotion in his voice matched the expression in his face.

"Wait," Myka said letting his words play in her mind again. "What did you just say?"

"About what?" He turned away and shoved his bowler onto his head in frustration.

"About Holmes," Myka said hesitantly. "You said you'd spoken with him to get my job back? I don't understand. He's in jail. He was arrested for murder."

Robert whirled around. "I just spoke with him this morning," he said. "He was just released today. Apparently he was being held for questioning – something about irregularities with an employee's life insurance policy." Myka's face froze in shock. Robert droned on, but Myka missed most of what he said, hearing only that Holmes had been suspected of trying to commit fraud and was just released due to a lack of evidence.

"Is everything okay?" Myka turned to see Charles at her side. He had seen the escalating conversation from inside the house and wanted to make sure nothing got out of hand. She looked into his face and he immediately touched her arm. "Emma? Are you alright?"

"And just who the hell are you?" Robert snapped as he stepped in between them. "Take your hand off of her this instant!"

Charles held his hands up to indicate he had meant no harm, but he did not appreciate the tone being used. "I do believe you're in my house, sir. So I'll answer your question by turning that around – who the hell are  _you_?"

"Who am I?" Robert took a step toward him until they were practically nose-to-nose. "I'm here fiancé, that's who I am."

Charles turned his head to her. "Fiancé? You have a fiancé?"

Myka shook her head. "No, I don't… I…" her emphatic words were cut off by a new outburst from Robert.

"Oh, so that's definite, now? We're not going to be married?!" Robert took a step back and shouted at Myka. "Why? Because of this," he gestured toward Charles. "This, preposterous dandy? You're going to let someone else come between us after all these years?"

"The lady said you are not engaged." Charles motioned with his head toward Myka as he spoke. "And I think, sir, unless that changes in the next few seconds – you need to leave."

Robert was beside himself at the condescending tone. He poked Charles in the chest, with the tip of his finger, as he shouted, "I will leave when I am good and ready to leave! And I'll be taking Emeline with me!"

Myka turned away as the men squabbled. Her mind was still caught up in the new information and she let it work its way through her thoughts. Holmes was free. He had not been arrested for murder. They had not changed the past, after all. Her face drained of all color. He was free to kill all those people. And she knew in her heart that he would. Nothing had changed at all. Everything that had happened, everything that was going to happen, was still as it always had been. She had been a fool to believe otherwise.

She felt a coldness come over her followed by the slow dawning of the possibility she might not be dying after all. As relieved as she was to know the conclusion could have merit, that she was going back to her own time, she was suddenly hit with the reminder of what the future for Helena would be like – and that it all started with her own return to the future.  _No, oh God, no._

_  
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* * *

 

Helena returned and set her shopping bags on the counter. She had retrieved the newest parts she needed for her device, a roast and vegetables for their evening meal, and a new tin of the red licorice candy. She smiled as she thought of the surprise knowing how it would bring a smile to her lover's face. She picked up the tin tucking it into the crook of her arm as she headed toward the study where she thought she would find her. As she crossed the threshold into the living space she glanced to her right only to see a tall man poking her brother in the chest. She walked a few more paces before stopping.

 _Uh. Did that just happen?_  She reversed a few steps and looked through the glass French doors out into the garden. The tall man was now yelling in her brother's face. She watched as he gestured toward Myka and then saw him move to poke Charles in the chest again. That was when Myka stepped in front of her brother and suddenly stumbled backward from the impact of the man's hand.

 _Okay, THAT did not just happen. I believe it did._ Helena turned toward the garden and opened the door with an eerily deceptive placidity.  _No, wait! Try and stop me._  She stepped through the doorway with only a singular purpose in mind.


	25. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the finale

Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines

Chapter Twenty-five, The Return

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"The power's failing!" Magnus immediately moved to join Dr. Calder at the platform, but had difficulty navigating in the dark. The emergency lights kicked in a few moments later, making their work easier, and the two physicians moved quickly to power up the defibrillator.

Helena and Tesla moved to the platform. He tensed visibly, and she gripped his arm tightly as he nervously glanced between the platform and the power conduit. Whatever it was he was thinking he gave no outward sign of it, and she felt him tense further before he started to take a step. Moments later the power returned to normal, and he stopped. "Claudia and Artie must have sent another pulse down the line."

"Looks like it worked," Tesla answered. "Let's hope it holds out."

"I think we should leave the defibrillator on," Dr. Calder said looking into the other physician's eyes.

"Agreed," replied Magnus. "There's not much time left – leaving it on could save us precious seconds."

Tesla exhaled slowly and patted Helena's hand. It was hard to know whether the gesture was meant more to comfort her or to reassure himself.

Dr. Calder began setting out and unwrapping medical supplies, while Magnus prepared an injection of epinephrine. They looked at each other without speaking, in the way medical professionals do when facing a dire moment of life and death decision-making.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 24 May 1893)

 

Helena breezed through the doors into the yard, walking purposefully toward the three figures.  _Calm down! Think again._ She watched as Myka lifted her eyes toward her. Something about the expression she saw on her face was unsettling, but she did not have time to consider it. Myka stumbled again just after recovering her balance. To Helena's mind the push from the taller man must have been much more forceful than it had looked – and the thought of it angered her even more. So intent was she on addressing the situation, she did not stop to think anything else could have been amiss.

Myka regained her balance, mostly, and looked up to see Helena running toward her.  _I have to tell her!_ Myka's mind screamed at her.  _I have to tell her it's not her fault!_   _So hard to move. So hard to think._ She fought to take a step forward even as her voice refused to obey her.  _Helena, I love you! Never doubt it, never!_  She struggled for balance trying to put one foot in front of the other – wanting only to get to Helena one last time, but it was no use.  _So far away. Too far away._ In one fluid motion she fell semi-conscious to the garden's soft grassy path.

All Helena's attention had been focused on just one thing, so she did not even know she dropped the tin she carried, its lid and contents spilling open into the afternoon sun, when she broke into a dead run and headed straight for the fallen figure.

 

* * *

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

"We're out of options," said Claudia as she ran into the room with Pete, Artie, and Leena.

Artie quickly spoke. "We've got her on the secondary circuit, but the pulses aren't taking, and the circuit probably won't last out the minute."

"We've got to do something," Pete said. "Anything!" As he spoke the platform began to spin.

"How much time is left?" Tesla's question was low and pointed. The platform continued to pick up speed before starting to slow down. Tesla, Claudia and Helena all blanched. The circuit wasn't supplying enough power.

Helena looked at him. "Less than thirty seconds," she said in a strangled voice. "But I don't think the power is going to last that long." She ran to the coupling where the connection between the platform and the conduit lay. It was starting to smoke. When they heard a loud popping noise followed by the acute smell of ozone, everyone in the room knew the secondary circuit was beginning its critical failure.

"No!" Helena yelled in horror as she turned toward the platform. Her eyes came to rest on Myka's face and she fell to her knees with her hands tightly wrapped in her own hair. "Not again, please God, not again." Her hand went to the locket around her neck. She had faced too much pain in her life. She had lost Emma, and then Christina. She felt as if she had just really started to understand her love for Myka, and now she was going to watch her die. The thought was unbearable, and she forced herself not to let the tears forming in her eyes fall.

Tesla took one look at the anguish etching itself into the already deep fear and worry present in Helena's eyes. The debate he had been raging settled immediately and he grumbled to himself as he walked toward the power coupling. Picking up the large cable he said, "Stand back."

Looking around the room he let his eyes rest on Magnus. He smiled his intention at her and she understood it without words. "Nikola, what are you doing?" She laid the hypodermic on the tray and moved to step toward him. "This is not normal electricity – this current runs through the Warehouse, you have no way of knowing if you can survive it!"

He gave her a sad but impish smile. "Just be sure to bury me in my blue suit. I always did look best in Armani." And with that he decoupled the line wrapping his hands around its two newly exposed ends. A powerful surge of electricity immediately surged between them and the platform rapidly accelerated to reach its top speed within seconds.

The shower of sparks accompanied by a loud explosive sound marked the end of Tesla's action and he was flung backward with enough force to send him right through the area gate and well into the side of a large crate in the adjacent sector. All eyes turned from him to the platform. There was no more electrical power feeding it, and it began to slowly decelerate. Myka lay motionless with her eyes closed.

 

* * *

 

(Chicago, IL – 24 May 1893)

 

Charles reacted instantaneously to the sight of Myka falling to the ground. He reared back and punched Robert so hard that the man's hat flew from his head before he even hit the ground. "How dare you lay a hand on a woman," he roared followed by a whimpering cower as he cradled his throbbing hand. Robert scrambled to his feet and seemed about to advance on Charles when both men turned at the sound of Helena's voice.

"Emma!" She yelled as she arrived sliding to her knees. She cradled Myka's head in her lap and looked down into a dazed pair of eyes glazing over from causes unknown. "Emma!" Helena called to her trying to get her to focus her eyes. She ran her hands along the sides of Myka's face and placed desperate kisses on her forehead trying to get a response of any kind.

At long last Myka looked up at her. The prone woman struggled to raise a hand to Helena's face and said "H.G., I – " before passing out entirely. Helena began to tremble.  _Please don't be dead. She's not. Please don't let her be dead. STOP SAYING THAT!_  The woman was not unconscious long, but in the time it took for her to begin to rouse the men had broken into argument once more. Helena ignored them and kept calling to Myka to awaken and focus.

When she finally opened her eyes again Helena was still cradling her head and frantically kissing her face. "What's going on? What are you – what are you doing?!" Emeline pushed Helena away. She rose to a sitting position and looked around in complete confusion.

"What is going on here?" She stood shakily. When Helena reached out to try to steady her, the woman recoiled with a horrific look on her face. "Don't  _touch_  me! You- you- you deviant!" She spat the word like venom and she slowly backed away from the group until she spotted a face she recognized. "Robert!" She rushed to his side feeling an overwhelming relief. She placed herself next to him and pulled his arm protectively around herself before she noticed the blood trickling from his bottom lip. "Darling! Robert, what happened?" She cradled his face in her hands and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to dab it on his lip before kissing him chastely. Neither of the Wells siblings had anything to say in the moment, and nothing about it improved as the emboldened Robert ended the encounter with the words Helena would never forget.

 

* * *

 

(South Dakota, 2012)

 

Dr. Calder moved to the platform followed by everyone except Magnus who had rushed to Tesla's side. He groaned loudly and she shook her head at him. "I'll be right back, don't move."

"Wasn't planning on it," he said and let himself collapse back onto the splintered wreckage of the crate he destroyed. "Ow," he groaned and pried a bulky metallic object from under his back. "Oh, great," he said. "My kingdom for a bed," he lamented as he let the object clink to the ground.

"Agent Bering, can you hear me?" Dr. Calder felt for a pulse. Everyone held their breath as they watched her face. When she finally smiled the relief was both audible and visible in the room. Myka was alive. "Agent Bering, it's Dr. Calder. Can you hear me?"

Myka's eyes flew open and she stared blankly at the woman peering into her face. "Myka? Myka, can you hear me?" Dr. Calder flashed a penlight in her eye making her grimace and turn her head.

"Yeah," Myka said. "I can hear you." She let her eyes focus more and smiled. "I can hear you just fine, Dr. Calder."

"Good, she knows who you are," said Magnus putting the needle down and eyeing Dr. Calder waiting for a nod. When she got it she gladly powered down the defibrillator.

"Of course I recognize her… and you, too, I think. You're Dr. Magnus, right?" Magnus nodded at her. "I remember meeting you." Myka's eyebrows knit together. "But, that was in 1893… and it's… how are you here? I don't understand."

"I'm afraid that's a very long story," Magnus said with a small smile. She watched as the others crowded in to welcome Myka home. "Oh!" She suddenly exclaimed. "Goodness me, what's this?"

Artie glanced at her as he walked toward the platform. "Ahhhh," he nervously stammered, "come with me, come with me," he rushed to her side and began ushering her out of the room. "And whatever you do, don't…" but his words were lost in her next exclamation.

A disembodied English accent echoed back into the room. "Bloody hell! A ferret?!"

"That'll be another '45 Bordeaux for the heroics," Tesla called out as he picked himself and brushed debris from his suit and hair. He walked over to the entrance and cupped his hands around his mouth to make sure Magnus heard him. "Maybe two."

"Hey," Pete said, running after Tesla. "Thanks man, I mean it. Really. I can't believe you did that…"

"Oh, don't mention it," Tesla said. The humble response brought a surprised look from Dr. Calder who extricated herself from the group so she could check on the battered man.

Pete continued. "You saved Myka's life. I'm not exactly sure how, or why you're even alive, but honestly. Thank you."

"No, I meant it," said Tesla looking up at him. "Don't speak. Your voice is grating." Dr. Calder gave Pete a sympathizing look as Tesla stuck a finger in his ear trying to relieve the pressure from the explosion that had sent him reeling.

"Why don't you come with me to the infirmary," she said. Tesla nodded and followed behind while opening and closing his jaw hoping to make his ears pop.

Pete muttered, "I really do not like that guy," as he watched him go, but quickly ran back to the platform when he realized Myka was trying to stand up. He hurried over to offer his arm, but she stumbled when she took her first step.

It was Helena who stepped in and caught her in mid-fall, and as they stood up the two women locked eyes. "You're home," said Helena looking deeply into Myka's eyes searching for any sign of whether it had been Emma or Myka who had broken her heart so many years ago.

"I'm home," Myka replied. She looked into the face of the woman she had loved across time, and reaffirmed what she already knew in her heart. She would always love her.

Myka lifted Helena's hand and looked at the ring she wore. "I was trying to leave it for you," she said. The thought struck her and she looked up. "Did you get my letter?" She did not know why she asked the question. She knew before Helena responded what the answer would be.

"What letter?" Helena gave her a quizzical look.

"Nevermind," Myka said. "I just… I wanted you to know…" She looked back and forth between Helena's eyes looking for something, anything, to let her know where they stood with one another. An ocean of uncertainty emerged between them, each woman battling her own thoughts trying desperately to merge the past and present – to reconcile what once was against the present. It was a task neither of them were prepared to do alone.

 _You have to know. I don't want anything to change. What if it's for the better? What if it's not?_ "Myka, I need to ask you something." She looked away and then back again fighting the roiling emotions within. "When was it…" Helena took in a breath and let it out slowly.  _Don't be afraid. I'm trying not to be._  "When was it that you left?" Helena finally asked the question. "You know, back then… when was it you weren't…  _you_  anymore?" A part of her never wanted to hear it, but a bigger part of her needed to know. One way or the other she needed to find closure. It had been far too many years of trying to forget – trying to move on, and she knew the only chance she had of ever being able to truly mend would come from hearing the truth. "Was it you who left me that day, or was it Emma?"

Myka furrowed her brow. This was the moment she had dreaded. It had not mattered that she had left the ring; the letter itself had been lost. She never got the explanation – never knew the truth. Helena ended up going through hell and suffered through a century of not knowing. She never knew the love of her life had never been the woman who ended up rejecting her. And the doubt filling the voice and expression broke her heart. "Helena," she stepped forward lacing their fingers together. "It was never what you thought." The dark eyes simply looked at her – the pain and grief newly minted in her expression. "Robert and Charles were arguing. I fell. I saw you, and then… I was here." She swallowed hard at the impact of her words and lifted her other hand to dry the tears falling from Helena's closed eyes. "I'm here," she said again. "I'm home. I'm safe. And I'm with you."

She released Helena's hand to close the gap between them so she could hold her close. As she wrapped her arms around Helena's waist, Myka leaned to whisper softly into her ear. "And I always will be." The two women punctuated the moment by melding together in the embrace as Myka finally brought their lips together for the first time in a hundred and nineteen years.

_~fin~_

_  
_

* * *

**Epilogue**

Claudia sat at her terminal performing her daily routine of checking artifact activity levels. She noticed nothing unusual until she saw a single inexplicable light blinking in a section of the Warehouse she never even knew existed. She zoomed in on the map and read the location. Royalty Room. She flipped on the closed-circuit camera and cycled through until she was able to find one for that section. It took her a while, but she finally located the proper feed.

She panned the camera around, but found nothing of note beyond what looked like piled up old furniture. Just before she switched it off, however, she noticed shadows moving. She tried panning toward the shadows, but the camera wouldn't turn far enough. She looked up with a curious expression. "Artie," she said as she turned toward him. "What's the Royalty Room?"

"Huh?" Artie was working at his own terminal when Claudia spoke. He turned around in his chair. "The Royalty Room?" He shook his head. "No idea, never… oh… wait, yes, the Royalty Room! It's where we store certain belongings of heads of state – Kings, Queens, Presidents, et cetera. I'd almost forgotten about that place, haven't been in there in years. Why?"

Claudia thought about it before answering. "No reason. Just saw it on the map and wondered."

"Nothing much to see," he said. "It's mostly just furniture artifacts - though none are dangerous. I think. Oh, and there might also be a football that once belonged to JFK – causes severe back problems, but I really can't recall much of note in there. Might be a good sector to add to the inventory checklist." Claudia groaned at the suggestion. He turned back to his work as he said, "you're welcome."

She grabbed her laptop and headed toward the sector, grumbling under her breath as she walked. It seemed to take forever to reach the dark corner where the old freight elevator was hidden behind a wall of crates. She entered and hit the button riding to a lower floor and exited when the slow-moving elevator finally came to a stop and opened its large heavy doors. She checked her laptop again for the map and turned to her right. The Royalty Room was not labeled, but was the first large section to the right of the elevator and was closed off by the largest set of wooden doors she had ever seen. As she approached, however, she heard muffled sounds emanating from the room. It sounded almost like voices, and she thought she recognized one of them.

She continued walking closer until she stood just outside the room. That was when she heard Myka's voice clear as day. She was moaning and had said Helena's name. Claudia lifted an eyebrow. The very next sound she heard sent her running back toward the elevator as fast as her legs could carry her. As the doors opened, and she stepped inside, she grinned to herself glad to be reminded something good had come of the time-adventure after all.

* * *

**A/N** : Thank you for reading Accidental Tourist. It has been an amazing journey to share with you, and I very much want to tell you how much your feedback, comments, and encouragements helped shape and complete this story. I'll be posting a Question and Answer, as it relates to this story, over on my tumblr page in the next few days. I will begin writing a new fic for the "New Beginnings" storyline, but cannot yet announce the title or say when the first chapter will go up – so stay tuned!


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